


war spoils the soul

by levesquelsimp



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: (they both need a hug tbh), A lot of worldbuilding, AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Annabeth Is Slightly Cunning, Annabeth Is Vengeful, Annabeth Just Wants To Go Home, Annabeth Thinks Soulmates Are a Myth, BAMF Annabeth, BAMF Percy, Countries, Dark Percy, F/M, Fluff, Hazel Is Wise Beyond Her Years, Hints of Dark Annabeth, I promise, Inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Made Up Religions (george martin notice me pls), Mortals, No Demigods, No Gods, Okay maybe its a little bittersweet but its still gonna be happy!, Percy Is Feared/Hated By His Country, Percy doesn't believe in soulmates, Piper Takes No Shit and Will Fight Anyone Who Tries Her, Politics, Romance (duh), Shit Ton of Worldbuilding, Silena Beauregard Is A Gift, Slow Burn AF, Slowest Slow Burn to have Ever Slow Burned, Strangers to Lovers, This Is Self-Indulgent As Hell lmao, War, War (again), Weekly Updates (Saturdays!!), author has no regrets, do you see the problem here, enemies to lovers (kinda), gaea is a little shit, im so sorry, percabeth royalty au, percabeth soulmate au, percy has powers over water, percy shoulders too many burdens, power couple AF, royal soulmate au, seriously, soulmates can be one sided, this has a happy ending, this is actually going to be really long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levesquelsimp/pseuds/levesquelsimp
Summary: (percabeth, royal soulmate au)she was born of winter, of fire, of stone. she merely wished to reclaim her throne. surrounded by rivals, hidden amongst enemies, annabeth must travel this path alone.he was born of iron, of ice, of the sea. a feared prince, misunderstood, was he. haunted by shadows, kissed by war, perseus suffers, with more in store.their souls are entwined, yet their kingdoms estranged. will love do them justice, or shall duty be their banes?'tis a tale of the ages, that much is true. but as for who reads it, is up to you.OR,in a last ditch attempt at survival, annabeth, an escaped princess posing as a common prisoner of war, seeks refuge within the borders of her enemy country.percy, the maligned prince, turns out to be her soulmate. he has no other goal than to serve both the allies and enemies that hate and fear him, but by tellings of the palace rumors, his discovering annabeth’s heritage would cost her her life.in a foreign nation known for its ability to find soulmates, she discovers the beauty of the unforeseen, and in a nest of leviathans vying for his spilled blood, he finally finds the soul that's tied to his own.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Sally Jackson/Poseidon (Percy Jackson), Silena Beauregard/Charles Beckendorf, Silena Beauregard/Percy Jackson (betrothal)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 111





	1. hoping alone, i spent my days

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was adopted/adapted from everyshadedsilver's "Argentate" on ffnet! the first 4 chapters are mostly her work, with minor changes made to fit my own story and the world that i'm building off the framework of hers. i do not claim credit for or ownership of those chapters :)
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> NOTE: the olympians are not related in this fic, and as such, neither are their children.

**I**

**“i spent my days”**

**A N N A B E T H**

**CONTRARY** to the reigning belief, being a prisoner of war certainly had its perks. But being pressed among a dozen bruised and sweat-tainted bodies, packed into the fetid confines of a prison cart like a satchel of soiled bread was not one of them.

A rough jostle from the cart running over a rock jolted Annabeth awake. Her eyes snapped open as she muttered a curse under her breath, her neck aching from the sudden jerk in movement. The stench of the other girls stung her nostrils before her sight could focus. So she bit her tongue to keep from spewing a few choice words as she blinked again and again, attempting to stop her vision from vibrating.

The inside of the cart was humid and dim, but between the slats of rotted wood that stood as their prison, she was able to make out filmy rays of sunlight. A low hum filled the space around her as the other prisoners talked quietly to each other.

_How long had she been asleep?_

Annabeth pushed herself up slowly, wincing as her neck flared with soreness from her sleeping position. Her wrists and ankles throbbed with the dull ache of the bruises the guard from the day before had given her. She pressed her back against the walls, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Her chest stung with disdain. There she was, shackled and bruised, with more aches within her body than she did breaths. How shameful.

In her head, she went over her preferred mantra, the one that had formed during her days in the barracks of the Algreni fighting shacks. _My name is Annabeth Althena Karstagne,_ she told herself _. I’m the Crown Princess of Eplonia, the youngest child of my House. I’m eighteen years old. I have two older brothers, a father, a mother. I must take back my kingdom from the Traitor. I was born of winter, of fire, of stone. I am the rightful ruler of Eplonia. The mountains remember, the mountains-_

"Good morning." A soft but excited whisper pulled her attention towards her left, forcing her to disregard the pseudo-comforting thoughts plaguing her mind.

Annabeth turned to see a familiar pair of golden eyes. Hazel was her name, as she recalled. She nodded politely. "Good morning."

The younger girl fidgeted with the hem of her dress as she sat cross-legged. She seemed to be contemplating whether or not to continue the conversation. Annabeth waited patiently, fixating her gaze elsewhere. The shame returned now that she wasn't as distracted as before.

Soon enough, Hazel muttered out, "How... was your night?"

Annabeth turned her head towards her again before shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "It wasn't… horrible. You?" She disliked talking, but the manners that had been instilled in her since childhood refused her inner want to keep to herself. Conversation, even when light and without meaning, was one's first indication of respect towards another.

And Hazel, she decided, was worthy of respect.

She shrugged, but before she could respond, another prisoner joined the conversation. Annabeth easily recognized her choppy brown hair and strangely colored eyes.

"Oh, so she finally lives." Piper's lips pulled into a sarcastic smile as she sank into position beside Hazel. "I will be honest, Asteria. I thought you died."

The dark skinned girl between them made a strange noise at the back of her throat before she pinched Piper's side without a morsel of subtlety. Piper hissed as she swatted Hazel's fingers away. "It's the _truth_ ," she urged. Her gaze slid over to Annabeth at the same moment that her fingers gestured towards her. "Asteria was just sitting there. Her chest wasn't even _moving_ -"

Annabeth felt a bit of heat rise in her face. Not enough to appear embarrassed, but certainly enough to give hint to her evident discomfort. "Was I sleeping for long?" Let it never be said that she was a slacker.

Hazel shook her head politely with an accompanied "No," the same moment Piper nodded with non-manufactured animation.

That didn't help at all.

Annabeth twisted her dark hair in her grasp, flickering her gaze from the two younger girls in front of her to the spaces between the wooden boards that comprised her temporary cage. She took note of the fact that the scenery had changed from the dusty red and orange sand of Algren to a blur of greenery mixed with tainted blues.

They were nearing Triesso, she realized. A pit in her stomach grew to the size of a small mountain-berry. But it was there all the same.

Hazel must have read the expression on her face because she assured her unprompted. Her understanding, however well-intended, was not on target. "Don't worry, Asteria. You didn't miss much, anyways."

Annabeth dragged her attention away from the slivers of what she could pick of the outside world and turned towards the golden-eyed girl. "That's not what I was worried about…" She trailed off, dropping her hand to her lap and ignoring the questioning looks that they both were sending her. Why was she speaking anyways?

"Well, aren't you going to explain?" Piper moved to sit on her haunches while bundling her choppy shoulder-length hair between her fists. Her versicolored irises transcended to an amber-rose shade through the dim light.

Annabeth mulled over the notion of saying how badly she wanted to be awake when they reached Triesso, and how badly she wanted to sink into the Estrian Sea and never be seen again at the thought of it. But seeing as she was now a common girl named Asteria born of Algren, she couldn't come up with a viable excuse as to how she recognized the leviathan sigil for the House of Neptune engraved into the wood of the cart along the outside walls.

After all, she wasn't supposed to know they were going to Triesso in the first place.

So instead, Annabeth sat and stared at the wall just past Piper's head. No response was a response in itself. She congratulated herself on her resolve. The pit in her stomach grew to the size of a small tree nut.

Hazel shifted uncomfortably as Piper grunted, both girls receiving the message well enough. They began to speak in lowered breaths and whispered to each other, murmuring about where they were going and who had conquered them.

Annabeth bit the inside of her lip at the sound of their ignorance. One would suppose that after literal years spent among the strangely-colored-eyed Algrenis, she would understand their shameless refusal to partake in world politics (for the most part). But she was also well aware of the darkness that their leader insisted on drowning them in, as well as the influence that the Nature Nomads had upon the small country. So she continued to bite the inside of her lip and fume in silence, tugging on the ends of her soil toned hair.

How shameful this was.

But this was a requirement, she reminded herself. No one would think to look for her in Triesso, let alone-- if she had estimated correctly-- Triton’s Hold. Being confined here, within the rotting wood of the prison cage and moving across borders of entire countries, was her sole hope.

She had wanted to rebuild her strength before reclaiming what was rightfully hers. And this voluntary entrapment was the gateway to just that. It was her catalyst. Her hope.

The pit in her stomach shrank back to the size of a mountain-berry, which was the size that she preferred.

**Ω**

Who could have known that the stench of the cart had killed her appetite?

Annabeth wasn't sure how much time had passed between her waking up late and the soldiers allowing the prisoners a brief respite for a meal, but when she clambered out of the cart with shaking knees and an empty stomach, the waft of untainted air- although dry- was enough to tell her that she was no longer hungry. In fact, the refreshing breath of oxygen felt as if it were enough to sustain her for days.

Her relief was cut short when the sound of the soldier's voice sliced through the air with the manner of lightning's whip. "Ten minutes to eat and relieve yourselves. No one is to be more than 15 feet from the cart." Malice entered his next words. "Unless you enjoy the feel of twenty lashes. Barbed and braided."

She bit her tongue and pulled on the ends of her brown hair as she scanned the miles of dead pasture surrounding them. Between their shackles and the fact that they were mid-border... where could any of the prisoners even run?

But she made sure not to point that out and instead turned her attention to the bleeding colors of the sky as the sun began its crawl under the horizon. The prisoners surrounding her sank to their knees as one of the younger soldiers began passing out bread and water. The women kept to themselves, nibbling on their sparse meals and continuing their whispers under the pain of the soldier's threatening whip.

Annabeth seated herself a little ways away from the rest of them, scowling as she inspected the bruise on her ankle. Now that she had decent light to guide her vision, she could see the grotesque blemishes that discolored the surface of her now-tender skin. The wounds resembled spoiled plums imported from the Storm Lands—a brutish, warmongering place bordering the Sea of the Gaelish Trench. She winced as she carefully placed the cast-iron shackles against her ankle.

The air behind her snapped, causing her to jump and subsequently flinch when the heavy metal circlets pressed against the bruises. Annabeth forced all emotion to leave her face as she turned around, already knowing who had caused it.

The soldier with the whip half-grinned down at her with a perilous glint in his dark eyes. "If you're not eating, I'd advise getting back in the cart." His knuckles then tightened around the leather strap of the torture device, turning white with force, before he ambled off. His lowered voice gave truth to his racially-charged whispers of "dirty Algrenis."

Annabeth forced the thought from her mind, the reason for his cruelty growing more and more apparent. She glanced at the cart and her stomach turned over at the thought of having to crawl back into its putrid darkness and huddle in one of the farther corners- the worst corners.

How shameful that would be. She could practically see the disdain on her mother's face at the thought of it.

Then, a shadow passed over her leg and she glanced up. Silver eyes met gold ones as Hazel grinned down at her, very much unlike the soldier who had just left her presence. The younger girl sank into a cross-legged position without invitation and handed a piece of her bread to Annabeth.

The faux brunette glanced down at her outstretched hand before meeting Hazel's gaze again. "What's this?"

She shrugged in response, her coiling curls ghosting over a thin shoulder. "I overheard the solider and well..." She paused, chewing on her lip as apprehension grew over her facial features. Then, after a few moments of what seemed to be spent building up courage, Hazel continued. "Well, I know that _no one_ would rather get back in the cart first." She wrinkled her nose at the thought of the lack of rest stops the soldiers had given them and how the prisoners had had to deal with their urges.

Annabeth nodded in gratitude and plucked the small bit of bread from her fingers. Yes, Hazel was definitely worthy of her respect. "Thank you, Hazel." Her thanks was sincere.

The girl in question bit back a shy smile, her irises glowing in the sinking and darkening light of the sun's rays. "No need to thank me, Asteria. That's what friends are for, after all."

Annabeth wasn't sure if it was guilt or shame that swelled the pit in her stomach to the size of a small apple. She didn't respond to Hazel. Lying about her identity was bad enough- even though necessary. Lying about friendship was pointless... and dishonoring.

So she nibbled the bread in silence, staring at the thin clouds that streaked the sky.

The soldier stayed true to his word. Only a few short minutes later were the prisoners herded back into the cart like criminalized cattle. The sound of the whip cracking the air in two taunted them all, needlessly reminding them who was in power and who was not. But Annabeth only expected so much from Triesstine guards. As her mother had always said, they were barbaric. Shame incarnate.

And with the irony that pervaded all things, she was heading straight into the center of the leviathan’s pit.

**Ω**

Day melted into dusk which in turn shifted into night. Annabeth kept to herself, her nostrils still stinging from the smell. She doubted she'd ever get used to it. But if her estimations were correct, they'd hopefully reach Eplantis—Triesso's capital city and home of the royal family—by noon the next day.

And that was the only thought that forced the churning bile within the depths of her gut from rising.

Hours passed, and soon enough, the low hum that gave truth to the whispered conversations of the young women surrounding her faded into quiet snores and thoughtful reflections. The sparse light that had previously slipped through the slats of wood did the same... in the sense that it was no longer apparent.

It was the silence of the cart that gave Annabeth the perfect opportunity to hear her stomach gurgle, her body complaining in protest to the lack of food. Immediately, red heat burned into her cheeks as she pretended not to hear it, staring straight at the wooden walls before her. Her stomach continued groaning for several more minutes, much to her agonizing humiliation.

A gentle hand pressed to her kneecap.

Annabeth jumped and winced as her neck throbbed once more with soreness's flare. She glanced down to see Hazel, wide awake, with a bit more food in her hands. Immediately, the faux brunette scanned their neighboring prisoners, certifying that they were asleep, before hissing in the younger girl's direction. "Where did you get that?"

She couldn't see through the darkness of night, but Annabeth could've guessed that Hazel blushed. "I...," she trailed off before sinking her teeth into her bottom lip in obvious nervousness. "I saw that you weren't eating earlier, and Piper seems like the type to have a big appetite, and I knew that I was probably going to get hungry again- so I swiped some more bread while the soldiers weren't looking."

The older one of the pair couldn't keep the shock from flooding her system. Who could have guessed that Hazel embodied so much gumption? But with the same swiftness that her surprise had come, it was soon overridden with concern. She didn't frown, nor did she allow much emotion to pass over her expression (or lack thereof), but even she could hear the evident disapproval in her words. "You could've gotten caught. And beaten."

The already unstable surety in Hazel's offering hand faltered as she drew back, her eyebrows pinching together. "I know."

"So why did you do it?"

Silence.

Then, after what seemed to be several minutes spent mulling the question over, she answered. And in her eyes, Annabeth saw nothing but the generosity and goodhearted nature that very few possessed. "I figured it was worth it." Hazel then presented the food once more, her motions this time a lot more certain. "Now eat."

Annabeth shook her head, biting down on the inside of her lip as she politely declined. "I couldn't." As if on cue, her stomach rumbled again in a flair of controversy- louder than ever before- as if to curse her for denying it sustenance.

Both of Hazel's eyebrows raised. "But Asteria-"

She repeated herself, cheeks warm. "-I really couldn't."

The younger girl sighed in slight resignation, but withdrew her offer nonetheless. The food disappeared somewhere into the inner folds of her clothing. Annabeth forced herself not to think about how unsanitary that was. She did not wish for her nausea to return.

They resumed reticence afterwards. Hazel drifted off to sleep, curling into Piper's side. Annabeth returned to her thoughts. But it wasn't long before her consciousness faded away as well. And as usual, her dreams were littered with past memories.

**Ω**

_The air was stagnant. And cold. Annabeth had never known it to be like that in all her thirteen cycles living in the Eplon Mountains. But maybe that was simply due to the context of her circumstances. After all, she had doubted there could ever be a day when she despised the silver snow and smooth fog that clung to her country's climate without mercy._

_But today drew her very close._

_She remained hidden in the shadows of the city's alleys, just as her mother had told her to. She gripped her older brother's hand, fear piercing her chest like the arrows that had rained down on the throne room mere hours before. "How long are we going to stay here?"_

_He didn't turn around, but his grip tightened around her fingers. "Not long, little Silver. It isn't safe for us."_

_She bit the inside of her lip. It was more dangerous for him to be out and about than it was for her. He was the Crown Prince of Eplonia. The firstborn. And now... she swallowed thickly at the thought of her father clutching his bloodied chest as arrows sank into his sternum. At the sound of her mother's screams as she was dragged away by hooded traitors._

_And now... he was King. No longer the Crown Prince._

_But she knew if she mentioned any of that, she'd get lectured. Her brother was a kind man in that sense- always ready to inflate the value of others. He was gracious by nature like that. He deserved kingship. But now it would be safe to say that they'd be blessed to make it out of the capital alive._

_The throne belonged to someone else now._

_She couldn't help herself. "It isn't safe for_ you _, you mean. They won't care about me." She loosened her grasp on his hand, already pulling away as she was aware of what would come next._

_He spun on her. His renowned blue eyes-- the ones that he had inherited from their grandfather of Castradian blood, the ones that set him apart from nearly every Eplonian citizen in existence-- glistened in the thick light. "Don't say that, Annabeth." He scowled._

_She returned the twisted expression, dropping her hand to her side. "We both know it's true, Luke. I don't know why you bother to deny it." She sniffed, wiping away the lone tear that had begun to slide down her cheek with the back of her hand. "With the right clothes, I could pass off as any regular commoner. But you...," she swallowed again before pushing on, ignoring the hurt look in his eyes. "You're the heir. Everyone knows what you look like."_

_The wounded glint in his gaze vanished as he gestured to her silver-blonde hair. "No commoner in this world has hair like that, Annabeth. You'd be recognized too."_

_She remained silent. Silver met blue. They stared at each other, facing off, challenging the other to back down._

_It was days like these, when the politically-charged aspects of their personalities took over, that the dull ache in her heart throbbed all the harder- reminding her just how much she missed their brother Malcolm._

_Luke stared at her for a few more minutes before taking her hand again and turning back towards the busy street. There was a strain in his voice that hadn't been there prior. "Listen, as soon as the street clears out, we move. Okay? To the next alley. Alley to alley until we reach the city walls."_

_She felt herself nod, her stomach twisting at the thought of the soldiers patrolling the streets. They couldn't trust them anymore. They didn't know which soldiers remained loyal to House Karstagne or which ones allied themselves with the Traitor. It was too risky._

_But it was necessary._

_She gripped his fingers again. There was no need to voice the question pressing on both of their minds._

_"And if we-," He swallowed, mending the intent behind his words. His voice shook as he continued speaking. "We won't get caught. I'll make sure of it."_

_The air was stagnant and cold with the weight of betrayal. Eplonia was no longer her own. Her beautiful country was no longer hers. The Eplon Mountains were now her prison, and escaping them would be near impossible._

_So all she could do was nod. Nod and attempt to keep the shakiness from her voice as she echoed her brother's words under her breath, peering into the street. "Alley to alley until we reach the city walls."_

**Ω**

Annabeth's emergence from slumber was a lot smoother than she had expected it to be. But maybe the reason behind that was simply due to the gentle shaking of her shoulders. She opened her eyes to find a grinning Piper staring back at her, only a few inches from her face.

Her heart lept through the bones of her rib cage. The faux brunette sank her teeth into her tongue to keep from crying out in surprise. It took several moments, most of which was spent breathing in stabilizing inhales with the sound of Piper's maniacal chuckles to back them, but eventually, Annabeth cooled the burning redness in her face.

"Good morning to you too." She grumbled mostly to herself as she fidgeted with the shackles on her wrists.

Piper snickered before taking a seat next to her. "Good morning, Asteria. Did you sleep well?"

Annabeth glanced at her through the corners of her eyes. The Algreni girl seemed to be a bit more joyous than usual. She wondered why. But nevertheless, she responded to the question in the same manner of politeness that she had been raised with. "Yes. My night wasn't horrible. You?"

She grunted, twisting her fingers along her short locks. "It could've been better." A pause. " _Well,_ everything could be better. But I guess everything could just as well as be worse, right?"

The faux brunette nodded, appreciating the wisdom behind her words. The pair fell into silence. When Piper realized that Annabeth wasn't going to be initiating any meaningless conversation anytime soon, she turned to the girl on her left and began whispering.

But it wasn't for a few more minutes that Annabeth realized the cart had stopped moving.

Hope began to fizz in her blood as she glanced at the outside world through the thin slats of moldered wood. A crisp blue stripe that resembled the sky blended with the iron-grey streak that she recognized as the many cliffs that littered the Western border of the continent.

Specifically, Triesso.

But before she could react in excitement (and, more realistically, fear), the doors of the prison cart were unchained and ripped open. Harsh sunlight flooded the murky confines as the sadistic soldier from the days prior leaned in. His whip was tucked into his belt, its presence menacing even when unused. "Get out and line up shoulder to shoulder." When none of the prisoners moved a muscle in response, he scowled, his hand falling to his favorite weapon. " _Now._ "

They all hurried after that.

The prisoners shook awake any girls that were still sleeping. A low hum filled the space as they began emptying out of the cart one by one. It didn't take much for Annabeth to recognize it as apprehension. After all, they had reached Triesso much sooner than she had anticipated. A lot sooner than any of them had anticipated.

She pressed her feet into the dust as she exited the cart, her body aching in places that she hadn't felt in years. After nearly two days spent sitting cross-legged in the dark, the bright sunlight of this foreign country was almost an assault on her eyes. She shuffled to her place beside Piper, their shoulders brushing together.

When her eyesight adjusted, she took note of the warm breeze that fluttered through her hair. Of the large waves that slammed against the slate-tainted rocks of the cliffs that they stood upon. Of the soaring blue sky overhead and the flitting sunlight that fell to the ground in wisps.

 _I am a Karstagne,_ her mind chanted. _I am the Crown Princess. I was born of winter, of fire, of stone._ Never had she yearned for her home in the mountains so much as she did now. Never had she ached so much for her chambers in the Torch, for the marble carvings of the Nine Mothers in the Blest Mount of Kryfort, for the gentle crunch of ice and snow underfoot.

But this was necessary.

This was her hope.

And it was that thought alone that kept her from breaking down in tears as she and the rest of the other prisoners were forced forward, walking towards Triton’s Hold that stood off in a distance.

Marching straight into the sea snake's pit.


	2. waiting for you,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annabeth and the rest of the prisoners reach triton's hold, a vain woman makes her first appearance, and piper runs into some trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: this is *NOT* an a/b/o fic, and this is *NOT* a werewolf fic. there's going to be some terminology in this chapter that might throw you off/lead you to believe that, but i promise you it isn't the case. the terminology in question is heavily symbolic in Triesstine culture and will be explained in future chapters (far future). thank you <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. All rights to GRRM, RR, and everyshadedsilver for inspiring this work.
> 
> enjoy! :)

**II**

**"waiting for you,"**

**A N N A B E T H**

**AFTER** marching for what felt like hours, she drew the conclusion that she hated the South. Despite the simple fact that Annabeth and Luke had spent close to two years hidden in the dusty streets of Algren, had weathered sandstorms and scorpions and the foreign dangers born of desert that would never reach the mountaintops, the Further South—where Triesso resided—was so much worse.

Her instincts hummed with vengeance within her. _You are a wolf,_ they told her. _The wolf is not made for the sea; is not made to cavort with sea snakes and scorpions._

She agreed wholeheartedly.

The prisoners were shoved forward, and Annabeth’s teeth sank into her lip when she stepped on a rock, the stone piercing the soles of feet, as if mocking her for her abandonment of her people.

 _Coward,_ it taunted. _Foolish coward. You are no wolf, you are no owl. You are no Karstagne._

She ignored it as best as she could.

Annabeth couldn't understand the reasoning behind forcing the prisoners out of the cart only to walk barefoot upon paved roads. And she highly doubted that the cause of said reasoning had anything to do with the High Lord of Triesso. She had been involved in enough politics to know that soldiers, especially ones associated with conquest, enjoyed the immense amount of power they had over conquered citizens.

If she were to guess, she'd say that the soldier with the whip was behind all of this. And because of that, she had no way to combat it. Not that fighting back would be a wise choice in the first place.

They were ordered to keep quiet, the only sounds hitting the air being that of their labored breaths under the heat of the strengthening sun. The taunting hope of her existence, Triton’s Hold, only grew more significant as they drew closer. But she still managed to find consolation in the fact that the clouds were thickening, draping the landscape in a hazy grey display, and weakening the sun's heat.

The new shades of grey reminded her a bit too much of the tones of silver that Eplonia was known for. The color resembled closely the cliff sides of the Mounts, the high walls of the Torch, the beautiful workings in the temple of the Nine Mothers. Her home, her culture, her pride, and her joy.

But it was lost forever, a dynasty destroyed.

Biting her lip and imperceptibly tugging on the ends of her darkened hair, Annabeth found it a bit emotionally onerous to keep her sorrow from showcasing itself on her face. But she managed.

It didn't take long for the sounds of civilization to reach her ears as they drew closer to the main streets of Eplantis. The sun drew farther and farther away from her; it seemed. Shackles against shackles, chains to chains, the prisoners were led to the cusp of the city streets. Somehow, Annabeth was able to keep the shame from burning into her facial expression as she kept her eyes ahead.

The sadistic soldier cracked his whip, urging them forwards as they patrolled the streets. His harsh words did little to encourage them. But the fear of pain and punishment often tended to be enough encouragement for any sane man, woman, or child. So forward they went.

Triesstine citizens—whether peasant, noble, aged, or young—hardly paid them any mind, but the presence of foreign prisoners lining their city streets was most likely usual sight for them. Contrarily, excitement buzzed in the air as they were paraded through the walks.

After all, High Lord Poseidon had begun his campaign for expansion when Annabeth was still an untried age of eleven years old, nearly eight years prior. Almost a decade had been spent taking over the governments of offshore nations and adding them to the growing number of Triesstine territories. He collected taxes from his new territories all across the world, and now, Algren had been invited into the mix by force.

Algren was the latest conquest and the largest one by far. Triesstine citizens rejoiced. They thanked their gods, Aegeon and Idylla—the Brother and Sister of the seas and tides—for paving their way to success. They reveled in the glory of the Triesstine Empire. They praised the might of the High Lord of the Triesso, and of the blessings of the royal family.

Annabeth forced down her nausea, forced down her contempt.

There hadn't been a war, not with Algren. So, they were not true prisoners. Their presence in Triesso was but a formality, the leadership of Algren's public indication of respect to its new boss, king, _Lord._ And as much as the thought sickened her, the faux brunette was all too aware of the horrors of politics. All that was truly left to do was hope that High Lord Poseidon was a kind man who didn't concern himself with the affairs of war prisoners, legitimate or otherwise.

But she’d heard the rumors, as they were impossible to escape. In spite of her hopes, Annabeth’s senses warned her of the dangers to come. So, in a nearly vague effort to quell those thoughts, she kept her eyes to the front, and registered the scene that lay before her—shackles against shackles, chains to chains.

Annabeth had always known that Triesso differed significantly from Eplonia. It was obvious. Eplonia was blanketed by snow, warmed by fire, surrounded by stone. It was of the North, as far as one could get before crossing the mountain range that shielded their realm from the barbarians of the Further North. Triesso, by contrary, was as far South as one could get before reaching Aegeon’s Peninsula and the southern bend of the Estrian Sea. It was soaked in salt, cooled by ice, strengthened by iron. The two countries were wholly opposites.

 _The pride of the mountains held no similarity with the brashness of the sea,_ was a saying she had heard throughout her childhood. How her mother and father would often poisonously describe the sea salt that clung to the air, the perpetual dew that slicked over the streets, the cloud-thickened skies... it was all burned into her mind. Irrevocably.

But never could she have considered just how far the disparities went without first witnessing it with her own eyes. And it was overwhelming. The strange smells, the ominous sound of the vengeful ocean at her bruised back, the gray light that ran over each slick grain of dust, the black horses that strutted up and down the lanes, the overbearing pride worsening the festivity in the air as they carried nobles and their families- all of whom were dressed in the famed silken robes that sang of Triesstine wealth... _overwhelming._

So overwhelming, that all she could focus on was Triton’s Hold. Through the mass of buildings wrought with iron, of black hair, olive brown skin, and sea-reminiscent eyes, the only fixture that offered even the slightest bit of familiarity was the very building that her mother had warned her against for years. Its abalone steeples and marble towers were a sight to behold. The young girl in her that still longed to study architecture appreciated its every curve, her gaze flickering over the pearly gates that gradually swelled as they drew closer.

How... ironic.

The harsh inflection of braided leather coursing through the air snapped at her ear, and before she could comprehend what was happening, Annabeth found herself flinching away with a low cry of surprise. She cringed as a rough hand clamped down on her shoulder, and hot breath brushed against her neck. The rim of her left ear stung, and she knew without looking that it had flushed a furious shade of red.

"I don't know how things are done in Algren," the soldier's voice bled malice and ill-intent. "And I, truthfully, don't care at all." His grip tightened as it moved to the back of her neck. "What I _do_ know is that _prisoners_ such as yourself, are to know their place. Are to keep their heads _down._ "

Annabeth bit the inside of her lip, nearly drawing blood, to keep from fighting back. The soldier pushed her head down, causing her to stumble forward. Shackles against shackles, chains to chains, dragging through the slick dust. Somehow, she kept her balance.

Her face burned crimson as shame's unmistakable presence crept up her throat. The faux brunette kept her gaze trained on the roads beneath her feet. Piper tensed up in front of her. She cursed herself for forgetting her place. She mentally swore upon the realization that it had been the _architecture_ to distract her... as if she were fourteen all over again, caught up in her foolish dreams of the future.

_You fool._

She exhaled through her nostrils and kept her joints aligned tightly as she shuffled forward, pressing her chin against her chest as best as she could. Her stance was mocking at best, challenging the soldier, taunting him, asking if it were low enough. But the brute was too dim to realize it. It wasn't for several more minutes before the soldier grunted, satisfied, and left, stalking off to harass another prisoner. Annabeth steeled herself, effectively closing down her senses, as his whip made its presence known once more.

Only this time, the fulsome sound of the weapon piercing skin made itself apparent. And a strangled cry followed it promptly afterward.

She soon found that with her face turned towards the earth, no one would be able to see or judge the sorrow that had fought its way to display across her expression. And no amount of effort would be able to force her emotions to tuck themselves away.

Sunlight had begun to break through the thick wall of clouds in the sky, its heat warming Annabeth to the bone. The back of her neck was soon slick with sweat, and she realized that her Algreni clothing would not make do in Triesso. Algren was hot, yes, but it was _dry_ and sandy. Here, moisture clung to Triesstine air like a newborn would his mother. The fabric that had once shielded her from the dangerous rays of the sun now proved to be an overbearing catalyst for discomfort.

The faux brunette tried her hardest, yet could not refrain from yearning for the loose, skin-baring clothing that draped over the lower-class citizens of the city. A substantial percentage of her being ached to be free from the dirty, travel-worn constraints that could be referred to as clothing. She wanted to be free, more than anything else.

As she shuffled forwards, cheeks burning with shame and ears filled with the sounds of celebration, she realized the validity of that thought. Her attention swiveled upon itself as her conscience rushed in another direction. She wanted to be free. But as soon as that notion fluttered into existence, it faded away as her inbred logic bled through. She was all too aware of the addictive qualities that liberation held. But at what cost would she gain her freedom? Whose price would she be forced to pay?

_And who would be forced to pay hers?_

Every being that surrounded her was her enemy, whether they were aware of it or not. They all posed a threat to her safety and the safety of the secret that she held guarded within the depths of her heart. Her very presence in Triesso was treasonous itself. Her presence in Eplantis, the bloody capital, shattered one of the oldest treaties that had kept the sea salt-ridden country at bay for generations.

Shackles to shackles, chains against chains, the prisoners were driven to a halt to allow a channel of stallions the shade of pitch to pass through. As the young woman stood still as death, her soles burning against the slick stones of the road, the emotion that had solidified to a lump within her stomach swelled to the size of a large apple.

If she were to be discovered... any chances she'd have at reclaiming what was rightfully hers would be revoked. And that would mean the end of a dynasty, the end of her House. It would mean the end of a proud lineage that had refused to die out when it had been so near extinction only four years prior. It would mean the beginning of a new age... with a conniving Traitor on the throne.

The prisoners were shoved forwards. Hatred smoldered in her clenched fists. She wouldn't allow it.

And, more truthfully, she absolutely couldn't. She had made promises, the promises that would forever haunt her, but were still worth being kept.

The next hour was spent with Annabeth in complete oblivion regarding her surroundings. Her neck ached from its forcibly submissive state. But her thoughts consumed her, and so she didn't notice that the sounds of celebration had begun to lessen or that they were nearing the upper-tier sectors of the city. It wasn't until she was jolted to a complete stop, narrowly missing an embarrassing stumble against Piper's shoulder, that she realized that they had left the urbanized streets behind.

Of course, she could only come to that conclusion from what she could see from her lowered head's position. But she was able to make note that her feet were no longer pressed into rough cobblestones, but instead slid against smooth and seemingly polished rock.

She then noticed that the nearly palpable tension in the air had sterilized. Around her, none of the prisoners even released a single breath as they all waited for further instruction. To move was to call attention to oneself. And under pain of that barbed whip, no one wished for that to occur.

So Annabeth strained her ears to attentively listen to what was taking place. By the sound of it, the lead soldier was standing a few feet ahead of her in line. She wasn't able to determine the exact words of his lowered-toned conversation, but she managed to make out slivers of dialogue regarding the prisoners.

They waited patiently. Patiently and fearfully.

The sun dipped back behind the thick clouds before making its reappearance. This process repeated several times, but the faux brunette quickly realized that it was not a valid measure of time. The abrupt sound of harsh footsteps alighted her eardrums. She fought back the curiosity climbing in her chest and pressed her chin against her sternum with more force. Doors seemingly crashed open, and a feminine voice spread over the scene.

"Is this honestly the best that you could do?" Her tone was laden with disgust as she drew near the prisoners. The words she spoke raised goosebumps along Annabeth's skin.

The soldier's response was nearly instantaneous. "Please do not blame me for the shortcomings of _Algren_ , milady. I just do as I'm told. High Lord Poseidon is expecting-"

She cut his message short. " _I know_ what the High Lord is expecting, soldier. And _this_..." she trailed off, seemingly searching for the appropriate word to describe the band of prisoners standing before her. "This... _lot_ simply does not meet the criteria. Take them back to the mangy dust pit of a country they came from. They have no place among Triesstine royalty. Their mere presence is disgraceful."

"I beg your pardon, milady. But I only take orders from the High Lord and the Heir Apparent-"

Her words interjected his sentence again. "—I believe I can speak for the currently unavailable _Darksnake_ when I say—"

He continued without missing a beat, undoubtedly further angering the woman. Annabeth couldn't decide between who of the two of them was more worthy of her hatred. "—Until the current Omega of Triesso _himself_ tells me that these prisoners are unfit, they will be registered and accounted for in Triesstine court."

Silence.

By the small sounds of clipped exhales that reached Annabeth's ears, she guessed that the woman fumed in aggravation at the realization that the soldier had won the dispute. After all, she could not combat the wishes of the High Lord, nor his only son. To do so would be treasonous and stupid, rumors be damned.

"Now," the soldier's voice gained a bit of an arrogant edge—one that was clear enough to decipher but transparent enough to remain non-incriminating—as he pressed on. "My men are more than willing to aid you in the installment of these prisoners. Do you accept, milady?"

Her tone was strained and bitter. "It appears that I do not have much of a choice, hm?" Then, a pregnant pause as she remained silent, most likely time spent staring at the women in disgust. "Just... remove them from my sight. I'll see to it that they have a proper meal and a proper bath. Perhaps... it's the effects of travel that gives them such a homely appearance."

"Of course, milady. And... perhaps." The last bit came off as ridiculously egregious in light of his apparent prejudices. Annabeth resolved her annoyance at this issue by clenching her fists a little bit tighter.

 _You're here for a reason,_ she reminded herself with a bite of her tongue. _A Karstagne, who’s here for a reason._

They were then dragged forwards. The woman stalked off, murmuring in indignation of the steady decline of Triesstine tradition and her wishes to return to the Isles. Annabeth made sure her head was as low as possible when she passed the soldier with the whip. But for some reason, she was the object of his attention as he pulled her from the line, his fingers pressing into her shoulder in a hostile manner.

His words were animus as he forced her face upwards, and she found herself peering into his glare. Dark brown hair cropped short, tanned skin, and a murky pair of green irises scanned her form with transparent aversion. Without a doubt, he was purely Triesstine. "A word of advice to you before you enter the palace," his voice was gruff. His hand squeezed her shoulder just a bit tighter. "Milady does not care for impertinence or headstrong aliens." A harsh smirk spread over his expression before he released her, shoving her back in line. "But a dirty Algreni like you will figure that out soon enough."

He disappeared from her peripheral vision with a crack of his whip. Annabeth found herself trapped between shuffling bodies as her heart slammed against her rib cage. Why had he singled her out? Was he able to see through her facade? Did he already know who she was, who she was pretending to be?

Obscurity enclosed her whole as she ghosted through the doors, entering Triton’s Hold. The scent of saltwater almost vanished, and in its place came the aroma of beaten iron and burning incense. That, coupled alongside the malodor of the prisoners pressing against her, caused nausea to simmer in the abyss of her stomach. The walls were lined with Triesstine guards, some of whom that she realized could have had power trips, so she pressed her chin to her sternum once more and followed the rest of the prisoners to their destination.

It didn't take long for her vision to get accustomed to the newfound darkness. The prisoners fell into a steady rhythm amongst each other. And so, they stumbled silently through the halls, bypassing servants and other lower-tier citizens that had earned a job amongst royalty. The shades of their skin-baring robes ranged from light cyan to clouded navy.

Minutes passed and still, her previous questions did not subside, refusing to quell despite her efforts. All Annabeth could do was stare at the smooth floors beneath her bare feet and keep her head down.

Before long, the prisoners were led into a room that echoed. They filed into the large chamber, their presence swelling as they filled the space. She inconspicuously lifted her chin, eyeing her surroundings with suspicion lacing all of her movements. A few soldiers entered the room after them and barred the door. Ice churned in the pits of her gut when the unmistakable sound of a lock falling into place spread through the chilling emptiness.

Silence hung in the air, its presence coiling across the chilled skin of each prisoner. No one wished to make the first move. Unspoken questions filled the space. Were they allowed to lift their heads? Were they allowed to move; to speak?

Annabeth already understood the implications of shifting positions first. It'd be the most unwise choice. But still, her limbs ached to be free, to be mobile _._ She had been cooped up in that cursed prison cart for too long. She had been forced into submission for too long. Her fighting nature struggled towards liberation, and it was truly a battle to keep her desires at bay.

It wasn't until she lifted her head again several minutes later that she noticed that the prisoners had begun to move. They did so slowly, in ways that were nearly untraceable, but they were certainly moving. Hazel and Piper were assuredly gravitating their way towards her. She cut her gaze to the pair of soldiers positioned at the doors, both of them with stoicism riddling their stances. And yet, their eyes were closed.

The faux brunette interpreted that as her chance. Mirroring the actions of the women surrounding her, she kept her focus glazed on the guards as she steadily moved towards the familiar prisoners.

It was only a subtle act of rebellion in the heart of the leviathan’s pit, but she had to be sure to maintain her pride. Triesso may have succeeded in forcing her into submission, but she was a young wolf of the mountains, born of fire, forged of stone, blest by Mother Winter herself.

She could not remain bowed for too long.

**Ω**

"I would do _anything_ for a cactus pear right now." Piper huffed as she stretched out over Hazel's crossed legs, exhaling softly.

Annabeth grunted but didn't respond right away. She closed her eyes and pressed her spine further into the ironstone wall behind her. The sound of Hazel's airy chuckle cradled around her ears, eliciting an answer from her. "I believe Triesso is a bit fresh out of cactus pears, Piper. Unfortunately."

Piper didn't allow that to deter her, however. She unheedingly justified her desires. "And I refuse to believe that, Asteria. _Honestly_. Algren belongs to the High Lord now. Virtually, of course. But I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the man has already begun importing cactus pears for him and the nobility. After all, if I were the ruler of the world, I would most _definitely_ take advantage of cactus pears. Any sane man would, they're a _delicacy_."

Hazel's chuckle gained a higher volume. But the faux brunette kept her mouth closed this time, not responding at all.

It had taken a half-hour, but when the prisoners realized that the guards did not care if they conversed or not, Piper had led Annabeth and Hazel to one of the corners of the room. That is where they laid cradled against each other, studying the other prisoners, and slowly dipping in and out of conversation with each other. The familiar hum that had filled the air of the prison cart had returned to the space of the holding room. Murmured bits of dialogue fluttered past their ears here and there.

And now, Annabeth was clenching her teeth and driving the contempt that roared within her back to the depths of her heart. The pride of Eplonia that had been instilled in her since birth yearned to make clear that the High Lord was not the ruler of the world. But wisdom reminded her that _Asteria_ did not care for such things, and logic reminded her that the High Lord of Triesso governed over nearly half of the civilized world. The King of Five Kingdoms, people dared call him. Piper's description of the man, although exaggerated, was not wholly misplaced.

In light of this, Annabeth forced herself to settle for grinding her teeth against each other and ordering her emotions into check.

But all conversation was driven to a halt anyways as the sound of the doors slamming open filled the space. Her vision tunneled and her attention fell to a woman with a twisted expression who was surrounded by a half dozen soldiers. The two guards that had been stationed at the entrance inclined their heads toward her.

Before the faux brunette pressed her chin to her sternum again, she caught a glimpse of sleek black hair and cruel dark eyes. The woman's skin wasn't pale, but it was definitely several shades lighter than the average Triesstine citizen. The answer as to how a foreigner had gained such rank amongst the nobility fled from Annabeth. Around her, all the prisoners hastily lowered their heads and stilled their breaths.

"Separate them by age and line them up," the woman spoke first, addressing the soldiers who flanked her.

"Yes, milady." They responded with urgency and in unison.

"And do so quickly." Her words dripped with arrogance. "My stomach doesn't sit well at the scent of Algreni scum."

Annabeth couldn't fight the pits of her gut from churning as fear rippled through the room. Young women around her were yanked from the floors and shoved into lines. Hazel released a small squeak as she was dragged away from Piper and Annabeth. The faux brunette herself made the mistake of glancing up and quickly registered the unadulterated terror that swirled in the younger girl's ichor irises.

The reality of the situation made its reappearance with full force. No matter the conditions of technicalities, they were viewed as prisoners of war. They would be treated as prisoners of war.

She was hauled off soon afterward. The soldier gripped her upper arm, snarling at her to get up. His calloused fingers dug into the skin of her bicep, threatening to break through flesh and undoubtedly promising a bruise. Annabeth clamped down on her tongue to the point of drawing blood in order to refrain from fighting back. She allowed herself to be shoved into a line at the opposite end of the room, far away from Hazel and Piper, and close to young women whose facial features seemingly held the same degree of age as her own.

'Milady' stalked up and down the lanes between the lines. Her steps were calm and graceful, contradictory to her entrance, as she glanced over every prisoner. After she was seemingly satisfied, she returned to the doors and spoke into the tense quietness. "The youngest girls," she addressed the soldiers again. "Take them to the bathhouse. Aids are already there with fresh clothing. They have ten minutes."

A solid salute echoed through the chamber and then the youngest of the prisoners were pulled out into the halls and began the march to the bathhouse.

Annabeth's skin clammed. No one dared to breathe a single syllable as the woman resumed inspection. The air was punctured with a haughty question directed towards one of the prisoners, asking where this bruise or this cut had come from. The faux brunette's breath nearly hitched when the black-haired woman came to a stop behind her, hovering over her shoulder, but she somehow managed to keep her exhales steady. She kept her gaze trained on the floor, praying that 'Milady' would register her facade of submission as truth.

The woman released a lengthy exhale, clearly enjoying the discomfort that she brewed in the chained prisoners. Seconds passed and she continued on to the next. Annabeth let loose a tense breath.

The young girls returned from the bathhouse not long after that. Their hair had darkened from wetness, water dripping onto the skin that their new sets of clothing exposed. The next line of prisoners were carted off to the bathhouse. 'Milady' began further inspecting the returning girls, checking their teeth and insulting the state of their hair.

This process went on for what felt like hours, but even so, it wasn't long before it was her group's turn to bathe. Annabeth steeled herself and began the walk towards the bathhouse.

She could have never truly been able to prepare herself for the sheer humidity that enveloped her upon arrival. The scent of saltwater clung to each wisp of moisture thickened air, assaulting her nostrils as the soldiers shoved the prisoners into the room.

A hand grasped at her clothing, and the faux brunette nearly shed her skin from the suddenness of it. She flinched away, a scowl pulling on the corners of her lips, and spun around to meet the gaze of the perpetrator. A young woman, barely older than herself, stared back at her through dark blue eyes accompanied by an arched eyebrow. Her jet-black hair was tied away from her face in a simple plait. "Do you plan on bathing in dirty clothes?" Her Triesstine accent was thick, almost rendering the brief message undecipherable.

Annabeth swallowed her pride and turned. The woman resumed to her task of swiftly tugging off her clothing. _Grip. Pull. Tear._ Despite the warmth of the bathhouse, her skin prickled against the air and she fought down a shiver.

There was an unaddressed tension in the air. An unspoken vow had passed between the chained young women. Not a single gaze strayed from the floor. The only sight that met Annabeth's eyes were that of her own bare feet. And judging by the slivers of what she could see through her peripheral vision, the other prisoners did the same. Although she had been raised by servants and thus had been bare in front of eyes that were not her own countless times beforehand, she was grateful.

They were urged into a large tub filled with warm water. Annabeth tried not to think of the plethora of bodies that had already bathed and rinsed in it, opting to close her eyes instead of staring at the opaque water she sat in. The Triesstine woman that had undressed her made quick work of rubbing base cleansing soaps into her skin and detangling her hair.

She could only pray that the hair dye she had stolen in Algren did not wash out.

No sharp, indignant outcries came, though. She was not bound and gagged, nor was she dragged off to the throne room to be exposed for her crimes. Instead, her hair was tied back from her face and twisted into a plait. Relief flooded through her as she was pulled from the tub and scrubbed down with a fresh cloth. _Her secret was safe._ Then, the woman handed her a small stack of clothes and ordered her to dress.

Annabeth yearned for the brisk winds and chilly fog of the Eplon Mountains as she tugged on the sparse fabric, feeling more exposed than ever upon the realization that the navy-shaded top that draped over one shoulder barely reached her navel. After all, it was the harsh humidity and warmth of Triesso that called for such clothing. But she was grateful for the length of the skirt, and even more so for the slit that allowed mobility.

The prisoners were then herded back to the holding chambers with the same manner as criminalized cattle, with brutal shoves and tight grips and harsh words. And although every fiber of her being told her to hold her head high and proud as a daughter of Houses Minerva and Karstagne should, she forced herself to keep her head down and heed the wisdom that she had been raised with.

 _The mountains cannot bow to the sea,_ she repeated her mother's words to herself. _They cannot. You will not._

And it was that mantra alone that saw her through the coarse inspections from 'Milady,' that saw her through the prejudice-based cruelty from the soldiers, that saw her through to the relaxation that she had been craving since Algren first surrendered to the House of Neptune.

**Ω**

_"Your Highness, you should be asleep!"_

_Annabeth turned slowly, a small frown already beginning to make itself evident across her facial expression. The eleven-year-old regarded the head maid that stood at the entrance of her bedchambers. Her gaze flickered from the older woman's clasped hands to the concerned visage that dwelled in her dark grey eyes. "But Luke and Malcolm haven't yet returned," was her simple excuse, as if it solved everything._

_The way she viewed it, it wouldn't make sense to be forced to sleep when her older brothers were still running through the dark woods behind the Torch. She could almost hear their shouts of glee as they darted between the soaring trees, their footprints littering the sterling snow, disappearing into the dense vapor that bathed their nook in the Eplon Mountains. She almost clenched her fists at the thought, despising the fact that she had been left out yet again._

_No... she would wait for them to return._

_The young girl shifted her attention back to the dappled sky, brushing her silver-blonde hair from her face as she studied the constellations displayed across the post-eventide arches. Until her older brothers were heading back to their beds, she would stare at the stars—no matter how long it took. There was no room for wisdom in frustration. No room for it in stubborness, either._

_But the eleven-year-old had yet to decide which would be her excuse._

_"Hestia..." She called for the woman over her shoulder, glancing behind for a split moment before resuming focus on the night sky._

_"Yes, Your Highness?" Her response sounded much, much closer. Annabeth found comfort in that._

_She looked to Hestia with a warm smile pulling on her lips despite the slight anger that swam around the pupils of her silver eyes. "Do you think it's fair that they are allowed to be out in the Peak Wood at this hour while I am forced to remain in here and watch the stars?"_

_Hestia bowed her head, but they were both well aware of the grin that was fighting its way across her lips. "It's not my place to say, Your Highness. But if I may point out..." She trailed off, debating if she were comfortable with what she would say next._

_Annabeth tugged on the ends of her hair. "What is it?"_

_Warmth spread over the older woman's face. "As rumors grow of Triesso’s expansion, the princes spend their days studying politics and training to become kings, while you... frolic in the Peak Wood and vanish into the library."_

_The eleven-year-old huffed. "That's... true." A tight frown pulled on her lips as she gazed longingly towards the Peak Wood. "I guess I don't have much to complain about, then."_

_The head maid seemingly agreed, nodding slowly, and murmuring out quiet praise to the Eighth Muse—Mother Vara._

_Annabeth sat at the window ledge for a long time. She didn't bother to count the minutes or the hours, but she tallied a total of eighteen shooting stars that flew through her line of vision across the silver-checkered sky. However, she clearly spent enough time cradled beside her window to fall asleep._

_The young girl peeled her eyes open blearily after the abrupt sensation of being shaken awake. She muttered out a slurred "Who is it?" into the turbid murkiness of her bedchamber. A snarky chuckle aroused her attention as she rubbed her smooth eyelids, scowling slightly._

_"Hestia told me you waited up for us. How tragic that you failed." The familiar voice gave way to a round of sparse laughter as Annabeth huffed._

_The eleven-year-old stopped rubbing her eyes and pushed herself off the ground. She stood to offer a stricter glare at her eldest brother. "It's not my fault that you and Mal took centuries."_

_Luke shrugged with a flair of manufactured nonchalance, but even she could see the shine in his crystal blue irises. The boy leaned against the ivory-shaded wall of her bedchambers and dragged a finger down her silk curtains, regarding her with little less sarcasm staining his words. "All you had to do was sit there and stare at the sky, Little Silver." A toothy grin broke through. "How utterly pitiful that-"_

_"Oh, leave her be already, Luke. You're turning her ears red." A second voice, this one sterner yet kinder, cut the sixteen-year-old's message short._

_Annabeth turned completely from her eldest brother and the frosted window at her side to take consideration of the fact that there was another presence in the room. She scowled deeply upon recognition of Malcolm's wavy red-gold hair that shone underneath the glimmer of moonlight and reached up to skim her fingers along the edge of her ear, feeling the heat. "You're not much better, either."_

_Her excuse was lame and they were all aware of it._

_Malcolm chuckled and stood from his position on her bed, pushing off from the sheets and ambling over to the pair of them. His grey eyes seemingly grew brighter as he drew closer. "That may be true," his smile was infectious. "But at least I'm nicer about it."_

_Luke scoffed. "Poison is poison, no matter how prettily you package it."_

_Annabeth chided, saying that his statement resembled a bit too close to that of their mother, as the younger of the two boys, fourteen-years-old, demanded in faux indignation to know if he could truly be classified as a poison._

_"I mean,_ really, _" Malcolm continued. His tone bordered on exasperation. "I'm the nicest one of us three. How is it that_ I'm _the poison? Luke is arrogant and Annabeth is mean."_

_Both Annabeth and Luke opened their mouths in protest-_

**Ω**

Interruption.

A harsh tug on the slit of her skirt tore the newfound prisoner from the comforts of light slumber. Annabeth jolted awake with a vehement grimace, disorientation puncturing her movements. Nearly mirroring the actions of her younger self, she blearily surveyed the blurred figures her vision presented. Seconds were spent studying her surroundings until one by one, her senses filtered back in and she was able to at least recognize the girl in front of her.

Hazel's auric irises heralded fear as she swallowed and leaned back, determined to give the older girl her space.

Annabeth felt herself frown at this. "Hazel... what's wrong? Why did you wake me?" She disliked the presage that her post-traveling companion's apprehension expression gave her. She loosely trusted Hazel. In the days they had spent together, she had seen that the younger girl appeared to have a level head fixed atop her shoulders. And she never had woken Annabeth up without good reason. With the last notion still present in mind, the faux brunette scanned the holding chambers for any imminent threats. Her frown deepened and her gaze flickered back to Hazel. Her silence spoke volumes.

Hazel chewed on her lower lip, her uneasiness evidently swelling at Annabeth's lack of further interrogation.

The sight of that provoked an arched eyebrow. Annabeth turned away to look for a presence that she had just noticed was missing. Her brows furrowed as she scanned the room once more, albeit not as in-depth as she was capable of doing. "Where's Piper?" Her question floated into the air and disappeared into the low hum of conversation around her.

"That..." Hazel's sigh drew Annabeth's attention back towards her. The young girl fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "That's why I woke you up."

The faux brunette cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing. "Is... is she missing?" The suspicious sweeping glance that followed was involuntary.

" _No,_ Asteria. She's in here. She's- it's just..." The younger girl swallowed and shook her head. "I shouldn't have woken you. This isn't your problem to look after, I'm sorry."

Annabeth recognized a cry for help when she saw one. Hazel began to prepare herself to stand, but the faux brunette stopped her. "Wait."

Golden eyes swam with slight surprise and confusion as she reacquainted herself with her previous position on the floor. So Annabeth paused, studying her carefully, and decided that she would wait until Hazel was ready to delve further into the pressing problem apparently at hand.

After a few moments, the dark-skinned girl motioned towards the center of the chamber. The faux brunette followed her direction and felt her eyes widen at the sight of Piper baring her teeth at another prisoner. From the sight of the angry cuts along the sides of the other girl, she guessed that she was the one the soldier had stricken out on the street earlier. She watched as the familiar Algreni girl took a step towards the injured one, fists clenching and glare strengthening tenfold.

Annabeth turned back to Hazel, slight confusion lacing her expression. "What happened?" Then, she added as an afterthought, "Specifically, if you are able."

Her irises disappeared from view as her eyes fluttered closed. Then, after opening them, Hazel shook her head. "Piper was just... being herself. The other girl didn't like it, I guess. She... she got offended, which is justifiable, really. Piper isn't the most... diplomatic person."

"And now they're about to fight?" Ice prickled Annabeth's skin. _Those fools. Were they trying to get them_ all _whipped?_ The older girl turned to search for the foreboding presence of the Triesstine soldiers. "Where are the guards? How are they not seeing this?"

Hazel swallowed. "They left the room a little while after you fell asleep. But Asteria," she outstretched her hand, causing Annabeth's gaze to fall to it. The younger of the pair grimaced and pulled away. "I woke you because you seem like one to mediate things... I've yet to see you angry. I just thought-"

"-That I'd be able to alleviate the obvious tension between them?" Annabeth finished the thought for her, disliking the notion as soon as she breathed it into existence. To do so would be calling attention to herself, which was one of the last things she wanted. And after the recurring unpleasantry of the soldier with the whip, she felt the need to stay low even stronger than she had originally planned.

"I know it will be too much to ask of you, but you are the only other person in this room who has any semblance of caring for her. I tried, but they wouldn't listen to me-"

The sound of a sickening snap cut Hazel's ramblings short, eliciting a horrified squeal from her lips. Annabeth craned her neck, recognizing the noise for what it was. Sure enough, Piper was standing triumphantly over the injured girl who was bent over the floor, crimson blood streaming from her nose and staining the ironstone floors. The room was drowned in silence as the rest of the prisoners watched the interaction with apprehension.

The following movements occurred at a rapid speed near untraceable. A swift uppercut to the jaw was followed by Piper's shocked screech in response. She tumbled backward, cradling her chin as the injured prisoner stood with savage momentum and sent a skilled kick to her sides. Piper rose from the floor with anger rolling from her limbs as she reached out to grip her assaulter's throat. But the young women surrounding the pair held them back, separating them just as the doors were slammed open and the guards poured into the room.

Piper spat rabid threats at the injured girl from her position in a soldier's grasp, her acrimony rousing goosebumps along Annabeth's skin. The target of her menacing words countered with glares and growls of the same fashion. Piper then turned her fury on the young man who gripped her, tossing her head over her shoulder to glare at him. The Triesstine soldier remained unhindered... until a harsh scream split the air in two, rippling through the echoes of the holding chamber and driving conviction into every present beating heart. " _Release_ me!"

For reasons unknown, he obeyed her command, removing his fingers from her skin. Piper stumbled forward. Surprised but undeterred from a plan that she clearly had, the Algreni girl angled her body towards the open entrance and launched herself through it, slipping between armed guards and disappearing into the dark halls of Triton’s Hold.

There were shouts of scorn and disturbance as the guards hurried after her, but judging from the evident groans that followed soon afterward, Piper was already gone.

A cold hand gripped Annabeth's wrist, and she met Hazel's wild eyes. There was no need for words to be spoken between them. With a sigh, the faux brunette offered her a grim nod. "Don't worry," she murmured. "I'll go after her."

The younger of the pair nodded deeply, unable to fully demonstrate her thanks.

Annabeth then turned a cautious glance to the entrance of the room, which was beginning to teem with soldiers at the news that one of the Algreni prisoners had escaped. Her attention flickered to Hazel once more before refocusing on the macabre obscurity that lay ahead of the doors. "I just need you to distract the soldiers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, annabeth attempts to think of ways to find piper, and someone in power seeks out both hazel and annabeth


	3. searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. All rights to GRRM, RR, and everyshadedsilver for inspiring this work.

**III**

**"searching"**

**A N N A B E T H**

**THE** darkness of the hallways taunted her, but it wasn't until Hazel responded that the faux-brunette was able to pull her gaze away from the chilling, shaded visage of mystery that lay beyond the doors to the holding room. Its sole promise was danger, and that fact alone was enough to regret her decision to look for Piper.

"I'll figure something out." Hazel's voice triggered her turn. She angled her head just in time to see solemnity growing within the dark-skinned girl's golden pools as she nodded.

Annabeth hummed, acknowledging her response, and swiveled to eye the soldiers once more. Three of them had been added to the mix, raising the number of Triesstine guards in the echoing chamber to five. Only two stayed by the doors, but even so, slipping past them would prove to be a difficult task since one of the prisoners had already escaped. Then, dragging the tail of her braid over the curve of her neck, the faux brunette cast another glance at the younger girl near her. "You have to. Or else, Piper's..." she trailed off, unable to bring herself to say anymore.

The weight of her unspoken words pressed against her lungs.

Hazel nodded again and chewed on her bottom lip while murmuring out a passionate "I know." Her auric-laced gaze fell to the entrance. It fell to the growing number of soldiers that now began to line the walls, their blue and green eyes that ranged in all shades, scanning them with antipathy and prejudice through piercing glares. It fell to the evident alarm that curled around the room.

It fell to Annabeth.

And then her steady exhales gave way to broken shudders as she swallowed and tucked a coiling lock of black hair back into place. " _I know._ "

The faux brunette couldn't find it within herself to muster up another response, so they sat in near silence afterward, allowing their presence to be fully submerged by the overbearing guards in the room. Thankfully, none of the armed men had yet ventured into their corner of the holding chamber, but that was only a small factor to be grateful for in the mess that Piper had created.

Annabeth tried not to harbor any malice toward the spirited Algreni girl. Indeed, she did. But then her thoughts traveled back to the situation at hand and the emotions that swirled in the depths of her stomach strengthened, consequently waning any possibility of that happening. She could feel the fear in the air crawling across her skin, could taste the resentment that the majority of the soldiers held against the prisoners—all due to the fact that they were foreign conquests. With each hardened scowl and flick of a sword that would be aimed at an unsuspecting girl, the faux brunette found herself swallowing down a dark grimace.

They were prisoners of war in a militarily-advanced nation. They were hated by its citizens. Powerless against its soldiers.

_Completely at their mercy._

How could have Piper been so foolish? Wasn't she aware of the steep consequences that her actions entailed? Did she not contain a single drop of forethought in that perpetual-battle-ready body of hers?

And now, _she_ was to put her life on the line in order to search for her. She, Annabeth of House Karstagne, the sole person in the entire room who had more at stake than anyone. Her expression hardened at the thought. A single step in the wrong direction put her life at risk. A single wrong turn could determine her fate.

No one would bother to check if she was important or not. After all, why would they?

They all viewed her as _Asteria_ , the poor Algreni girl who had been unfortunate enough to be chosen as a prisoner. With her dyed-burnish-toned hair, no one would even think to assume that she was the last living heir to the Seat of Stone.

_And this risk was all Piper's f-_

A cold hand pressed against her forearm, halting her petulant thoughts. Annabeth angled her line of sight to see Hazel staring into her face, silver meeting gold. "Don't be angry at her, Asteria," she pleaded.

The faux brunette inched away from her golden-eyed companion's touch, biting back a grimace. She forced her tone to lose any inflection of emotion when she responded. "I'm trying not to." Then, after a weighted sigh, "I'm also failing pitifully."

"It's not her fault, you know," Hazel whispered. A canine sank into her pillowy lower lip as she fiddled with the hem of her skirt, the navy fabric clinging to her upper thighs when she moved to sit on her haunches.

Annabeth resisted tugging an eyebrow upwards and glanced away. The resentment in her chest solidified and swelled to the size of a plum from the Storm Lands. "It's completely her fault, Hazel." Half-concealed furious incredulity laced her words. She couldn't bother to mollify the severity of the situation—not when lines of succession were at stake. She motioned harshly at the flock of soldiers that eyed them like criminals. "If she had shown an _ounce_ of restraint—" The faux brunette sucked in a sharp breath and cleared her throat.

 _Hazel's done nothing wrong_ , she reminded herself. _Don't take it out on her._

She glared at the high-arching ceiling above, mending the intent behind her sentence. "She needs to control herself."

"And I agree with you."

Hazel's response jolted a sliver of bewilderment and surprise in Annabeth's heart. But she didn't remove her focus from the canopy of ironstone that stared back at her. Sometimes she yearned to be as emotionless as the rock was, it would make life _so_ much easier. If she were ironstone, she wouldn't have to concern herself with the cesspools of politics or the royal lines of succession.

"I've known Piper for a long time, almost three years now." When her traveling companion continued to speak, Annabeth allowed her attention to fall back to her. Hazel picked at the large shackle around her ankle while she pressed on. "In all the time that I've known her, she's always been fiery. She isn't one to lie around complacently and accept any anger that's aimed at her. Which is admirable."

 _No, it's unwise,_ Annabeth wanted to say. But she knew that this wasn't the time for counterarguments, so she swallowed it down and let her continue. She'd learned to choose her battles, and this wasn't one of them.

She held back a smirk at the realization that her mother would have applauded her for her restraint.

Hazel let loose another shuddering breath before resuming her tangent. "I wasn't surprised that she got into another fight. The other girl must have provoked her in some way—"

The faux brunette felt herself frown. "You say that as if it takes much to provoke her." An uneasy pause, hollowing the space between them with deafening silence, followed in pursuit of her words. "Am I wrong in my judgment?"

"Only halfly." The girl beside her didn't look up from her shackles. "But I was going off course anyways. What I meant to say is that Piper hates how short-tempered she is. I've seen it. I've endured it. And... I've seen that she despises how easily anger comes to her, how quickly she finds herself in another fight. I'm not saying that running away or getting into a fight with the other prisoner in the first place was okay, or that it's alright by me... because it's _not_."

She looked up then, the emotion in her eyes highlighted by a glare caused by a thin sheen of tears meeting light. It was clear to Annabeth that Hazel only wished to make her side comprehensive. "She ran away so she wouldn't have to face anyone else in the aftermath." Then, looking back to the floor and with a shrug, "It's what she does."

Silence.

It swelled between them for a half minute.

The faux brunette battled for an appropriate response, scouring her vocabulary and her experience in trained-diplomacy to find the correct words to address Hazel's message. But she found none. None that would do the situation justice, anyway.

So, it was only ice that churned beneath Annabeth's skin when she answered, bathing her words detached. "Just... figure out a way to distract the guards."

Now wasn't the time to be sentimental, nor was it the time to analyze why Piper did the things that she did. There were more pressing matters at hand. She had to focus on the fact that she had to find Piper in a building she'd never been in before, not get caught, and find her way back undetected.

The faux brunette watched as Hazel's eyes fluttered closed and her expression crumbled. It was apparent that the older of the pair hadn't reacted in the way that she had wanted. Hazel didn't bring herself to make any other conversation after that. She kept to her own, picking at the cast-iron shackles that bit into her Achilles tendon while flexing and unflexing her toes.

Annabeth turned away and gulped down the lump that had entered her throat. The pit in her stomach waxed, enlarging to the size of a Western orange.

She couldn't get sentimental now.

Idealism held no merit in terms of reality _._ Her father had taught her that for years, but it wasn't until the day that she was forced to leave her home that she acknowledged the valid weight of his proverb. And it was again at this moment that she found herself appreciating her father's wisdom, wishing that she had been more receptive of it when she still was able to.

Annabeth leaned into the wall and turned to stare at the ceiling, peering into the stones that arched overhead as if they would give her the answers that she needed. She tugged on the end of her plait, deep in thought. Time passed, each tense second crawling by at the speed of hours. The answers she sought did not come, unsurprisingly. She was seconds away from cursing in frustration when a bitter voice stopped the words from crawling out of her throat.

"I've seen you two with that _bitch_ before. How about you control your friend?"

Annabeth halted her lips from forming into a taut frown and instead dragged her gaze toward her right. Her attention fell on a trio of prisoners, all with the signature strange-colored eyes of Algren and varying shades of dusty brown hair. The one in front had her head cocked to the side as she studied the faux brunette and the dark-skinned girl with menace littering her expression.

"She's not my friend," Annabeth answered with a manner of plainness. Through her peripheral vision, Hazel's shoulders tensed visibly with a flinch. The smallest tinge of guilt fluttered in the pits of her gut, which she ignored. It was the truth, after all. Disregarding the fact that she was to risk her life for the girl before the moon rose, Piper was not a friend of hers.

Karstagnes did not befriend the unwise.

The opposing prisoner rolled her eyes and advanced, her upper lip twitching with acerbity. "I don't _care_ if she's your friend or not—"

Annabeth cut her off then, sitting up against the wall and wincing as her shackles scraped against her still-tender bruises. She then leveled a cold look at the trio of young women in front of her. "If you don't care, then why are you here, exactly? Are you trying to get us all flogged?" The wound on her tongue smarted and suddenly her mouth tasted like iron. But she pressed on, her innate hubris strumming her words. "Don't be foolish."

The prisoner towards the back of the group, with unearthly bright violet irises and stained mahogany hair, narrowed her eyes in response. "We're all going to get flogged anyways thanks to that friend of yours. Don't see how it could get any worse from here."

The faux brunette found herself humming in response, already deciding that she had neither enough energy nor care to continue the conversation. They were fools, and the pride that filmed the undertones of her every decision withheld her from speaking any more.

A bittersweet notion bubbled to the surface of her conscious. Mal would be proud of her.

Even still, her refusal to entertain them clearly spurred anger. The third girl who hadn't yet spoken up moved forward. Annabeth cast her a bored glance, her gaze flickering over her light blue robes and threaded spill of hair a shade burnished, and resumed her focus, fixating her thunder-stained irises on the sweeping ceilings overhead. Another vitriolic set of words ghosted past her ears as the girl began to spout off warnings and orders to keep "that Algreni girl" in check.

Annabeth had to force herself to pay attention to their void threats and fruitless intimidations. She moved to whisper something to Hazel, keeping her focus lit upon the ceiling. But she was met with interruption, leaving the words to perish on the surface of her poised tongue.

"Separate yourselves." A simple command blocked the assaulting trio from continuing further.

The faux brunette bristled at the baritone of the voice, realizing without straying her eyes from the ironstone canopy that they had caught the attention of a soldier. She pushed her chin into her sternum unwittingly but thanked her muscle memory for pursuing the action in her logic's stead. The wind that the action caused churned ice against her now-clammy skin.

She tucked her scowl into the navy fabric of her thin top. _Those fools._ Why couldn't they leave well enough alone? How dense could someone be? The indiscretion of the three Algrenis had inevitably proved to be a catalyst for retribution, and now they were all to pay the price for their idiocy.

Her back stung in anticipation of punishment as the trio of prisoners whimpered away, lowering their heads in the presence of the soldier. They attempted to fade into the shadows but failed in all forms of the term.

The soldier moved closer, and Annabeth found herself sinking her teeth into the flesh of her inner lip when his sandaled foot struck Hazel's sides. The younger girl gasped in a lucid manner, flinching away from the aggressive motion. Her shoulder slammed into the floors with a sickening crunch. Annabeth's senses chilled numb at the sound, her emotions already steeling themselves.

The soldier's sneer filtered into his words as he leaned over Hazel's hunched form. His dirt-stained soles began to line the curve of her hip, malice deepening the edge in his voice. "What's the meaning of this?"

The dark-skinned girl didn't respond. Instead, she remained curled up against the stones of the floor, attempting to catch her breath. Her exhales and inhales shuddered in her chest, and Annabeth watched, stilled and desensitized, as his foot moved from Hazel's waistline to her uninjured shoulder. The younger girl's vocal cords vibrated with a restrained whine when pressure was applied.

The soldier leaned down, wrapping a fist around her thick plait, and dragged her head upwards. "Prisoners are to respond when spoken to, yeah? _Answer me_."

Annabeth recognized the Gaelish accent—albeit smothered by the fresher Triesstine one—for what it was. It was clear that he had spent some time in the Storm Lands, giving truth to his evident prejudices that were only strengthened by his affiliation with Triton’s Hold. Her emotions made their reappearance at full force, hatred smoldering beneath her bruised skin at this realization.

How antithetical was it that the most brutish of all the civilized peoples, that the men and women who had the _least_ reason to be proud of their heritage and social stature, turned out to be the vainest and most empathically perverse?

How could it be that these Triesstine _barbarians_ had the audacity to treat Algreni prisoners with such contempt for reasons none other than the fact that they were incarcerated foreigners? She had barely just arrived in Triesso, and already, her parents' teachings of the sea salt-ridden nation rang with truth.

She hated them. She hated Southroners. She hated them all, wanted to watch them succumb to the flames of the Hearth or drown in the bitter ice of the Winter.

And then, with a jolt, Annabeth forced herself to clear the thoughts from her head. The evidence of her reflections had begun to make themselves clear across her expression, which was dangerous alone. But even otherwise, now wasn't the time to pour her attention toward justified anger. There were more pressing problems at hand. She refocused on the situation, untangling her lips from their poised scowl and setting her brows into a neutral line.

Hazel's face was no longer in the faux brunette's line of sight, but the notes of her words were still very much decipherable. The younger girl exhaled slowly before answering. "The girls were bothering us. They-

"- _Look at me._ "

Her words faltered, a long pause spinning silence into near tangible strands as Hazel undoubtedly angled her head to look into the guard's face. "They... wouldn't leave us alone," she continued.

"Is that so?" was his grunt. The soldier released her, leaving Hazel to drop to the ground as if she were a trivial sack of peasant's rice. But before he could advance on the trio of prisoners who were steadily inching away from the situation, another guard approached the group, his sandals slapping against the sleek ironstone floors.

This time, Annabeth could not withhold the unadulterated alarm that took root in the depths of her heart, convulsing her veins and tossing her blood into a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

Why were so many of the soldiers drawn to the circumstance, to her? Did they already know of her truth? Were they waiting to see her yield to the subtle stress? Her jaw ticked as she focused her gaze more intently on the smooth rock that comprised the floor.

 _Contain yourself,_ she mentally hissed.

The guard stopped close enough for Annabeth to feel the warmth of his presence, and it took entirely too much effort for her to refrain from coiling away in disgust. But she forced herself to do so. The faux brunette had no intentions of being punished anytime soon, and carefully planned all of her movements accordingly.

"Dathan, what is the meaning of this?" The phrase was plain and authoritative, but boredom divulged the emotion behind it, tainting the words primitive and nonchalant. "We're supposed to be _watching_ them, not... whatever in the name of Aegeon you're doing."

Dathan released a heavy groan and stepped further away from the trio of prisoners, allowing them to make their escape. From what she was able to interpret through the slivers of sight that her submissive position allowed, Annabeth saw that his body language was synonymous with a predator cheated out of a meal. The notion alone brought goosebumps to her skin.

"Must you remove the fun from _everything_ , Jorah?" His words trilled venom.

The second guard's response was cold. "If it means that I do what I'm ordered, then yes. Unless, you want to report to the Heir Apparent upon his return the reasons behind your disobedience. If that's the case, then the pleasure is all yours."

Dathan growled but didn't respond immediately. Instead, his foot moved to Hazel's sides once more, eliciting a sharp tug of breath from her lungs as his toes dug into the cavity beneath her ribcage. His hunger seemed satiated with this reaction, a squalid chuckle seeping from his chest when he addressed Jorah. "The Heir isn't due back in Triesso for another two weeks. Don't try to use his name to scare me off." A stagnant hesitation before, "We were told to make sure that another fight didn't break out between the prisoners. And it looked to me that another fight was brewing. I only decided to extinguish it before it could grow." The tenor of his speech bordered on snark when he continued. " _Surely_ , you cannot criticize me for attempting to do what was right."

Jorah grunted, as if readily deciding that he had better things to do. His words gave truth to that as he continued. "I don't know why I've bothered to entertain this conversation. The Baroness wants to speak with these two: I was charged with retrieving them. Go away, Dathan."

Annabeth's blood lowered to glacial temperatures at the sound of that. A woman, clearly of high stature, wanted to speak to her and Hazel. She hadn't yet been in Triton’s Hold for six hours and _already_ she was an object of attention. The faux-brunette gulped down her alarm, feeling the pit in her stomach bulge to the tonnage of Castradian shrubbery.

"It's clear that our last duel has left you bitter, Jorah. But don't worry," Dathan taunted but began to move away nonetheless. "Once the Darksnake returns from the Tribes and reinstates the training sessions, I'll be sure to come find you. And then I can finish you off yet _again_." The soldier's callous laugh echoed in the empty cavity of Annabeth's chest when he finally drew back and disappeared into the crowd of prisoners in the holding chamber.

Jorah muttered expletives in the Ancient Tongue under his breath, his hand falling to the hilt of his longsword for a moment before he shook off his irritation. Then, he reached down to yank on the chains stemming from their shackles. "Get up." His words were concise and to the point. "The Baroness does not like to be kept waiting."

They both stood, although Hazel's motions were a bit more sluggish compared to Annabeth's. The faux-brunette tried to keep the tremors of anxiety from making themselves known in her stance, but couldn't fight her shaky steps. She kept her gaze trained on the floor and swallowed down her disquiet as best as she could.

Then they were led from the holding chamber- shackles against shackles, chains to chains. And as they passed from tenuous familiarity into the murkiness of the unknown, Annabeth found herself muttering silent prayers to the Nine Mothers—hoping and begging that she'd live to see the day's sunset.

_Blest muses, Mothers of the Mount, protect me now in these hours of darkness._

**Ω**

"I ought to have you drowned, drawn, and quartered for making me wait so long."

Jorah's response echoed submission and reticence. "Forgive me, milady. I was distracted by—" He paused to clear his words, as if mending his sentence before it could sprout from his tongue. "I was compromised by another soldier."

The Baroness hummed, barely acknowledging his response. Her words were terse. "As always. You can wait outside, Jorah."

"Of course, milady."

Annabeth's neck ached, but she didn't dare lift her head. She had recognized the woman's voice the moment the first syllable drew from her lips. The Baroness and 'Milady' were one and the same. And as such, the faux brunette had to tread with care, for the noblewoman that sat behind the desk before her viewed her as scum.

And she had no doubt that she would treat them accordingly.

The harsh sound of Jorah's sandals slapping against the polished stones as he took his exit throttled in Annabeth's chest. A door was opened and closed, leaving the two prisoners at the unchallenged mercy of the woman who was assumedly in charge of them. A woman who despised them.

Humidity clung to the air of the small room, bathing Annabeth's skin in tension-born sweat. Her still-fading bruises throbbed beneath the rigid grip of her shackles. The oscillating drum of her pulse tremored in her ears, the steady beat heralding the fear that contradicted her emotionless expression. But even so, Athena's words rang in her mind. _Have no fear, little Silver. But to be cautious is to be wise._ Annabeth managed to keep that snippet of wisdom on repeat at the forefront of her conscience. And as she kept her focus glazed upon the floors, the proverb became a mantra that provided comfort.

 _You are Annabeth Karstagne; here for a reason,_ she reminded herself. _Eplonia awaits._

Silence swelled between them all, and by the sound of the easy breaths that puffed from the Baroness's lips, it was obvious that she reveled in making the two young women before her squirm. Minutes passed before she spoke. "Look at me." Her order left little room for argument or hesitation.

Annabeth lifted her chin automatically, her gaze falling to vertical swaths of melanoid hair and pair of acrimonious eyes that were equally as dark- literally and figuratively. The noblewoman's lip tugged upwards in reproach as she scanned their attire, her pale skin flushing a light shade of pink before she cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes. "I've seen the both of you with that _disgrace_ of a girl before," she began.

Hazel's joints locked immediately, her body tensing. Annabeth remained stilled and emotionless. She had no reason to react, after all. The woman's words came at no shock to her. Of course the Baroness would have known that Piper spent her time around Hazel and her: nearly everyone knew so, it seemed.

Upon this, the Baroness angled a deeper look at the dark-skinned girl, her features gaining a venomous edge. "I realize that this transition may be difficult for Algreni simpletons such as yourselves. However," she paused to lean back, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in the skirt of her beryl-shaded dress. "In the _rare_ case that you find yourselves unable to comprehend it, allow me to make clear to you that such behavior will _not_ be tolerated here in Triesso, let alone the stronghold of Aegeon’s Chosen." Her words rumbled with acerbity. "You have only the gods and Lady Vene to thank for mercy—"

Hazel's voice rumbled out softly, cutting the woman's message short. "M-milady?"

Annabeth clenched her jaw, fearing for her traveling companion. _No,_ she wanted to shout with indignance. _Why would you do such a thing?_

As if by reflex, the Baroness stood and reached over the desk, her hand outstretched. The fulsome sound of her palm striking the younger girl's cheek followed moments later. The faux-brunette could do nothing but keep her gaze locked on the stoned walls before her as Hazel's haunting outcry curled around her ears. Through her peripheral vision, she saw her fellow prisoner lower her head and bite her lip while clutching the right side of her face.

The noblewoman resumed her former position. "Prisoners are not to speak unless spoken to," she spat bitterly. Then a pause before, " _Look at me_." Hazel shakily lifted her head and the Baroness grinned in a manner that reeked of smugness. "It would do you good to remember that, yes?"

The younger girl did not respond.

The Baroness, undeterred, then continued to straighten out her clothing before pressing on. "As I was saying: you have only the gods, and _especially_ Lady Vene to thank for mercy. For if the decision fell to me," a pause with malicious intent. "I would have had that whore's back flogged to the bone and her head shaven."

Annabeth's blood ran cold. She had been raised in Eplonia, and as such, the halls of her home were often laden with rumors and tales of the cruelty of Triesstine punishments. They were said to have rivaled those of the Espar States in terms of brutality, but it was not until now that she recognized the validity behind those statements. They were going to whip Piper to near death for escaping.

It took much longer than acceptable for that fact to sink in.

The Baroness's tone darkened. "I knew that giving you the privilege of bathing would have sent the wrong impression, that some of you would come to believe that you were _equals_. But Lady Vene insisted. And now I have this _mess_ to deal with." She shook her head before continuing. "That excuse of a girl’s disgraceful actions has cost her the protection of Triesso. She has declared herself an enemy of the High Lord, the High Lady, and the Heir Apparent. But... I've been told to offer leniency on the part of those affiliated with the wench. So, I must ask, do you do the same as she?"

Their responses were in unison; Hazel's was shaky, Annabeth's was cold. "No, milady."

She hummed as if amused, before standing abruptly. The woman stalked around her desk, her hands clasped neatly before her and her head held high. As she drew closer, the hairs on the back of Annabeth's neck rose. It wasn't long until the Baroness came to rest just behind her, her vicious gaze focused on her left profile. "You seem to be a cold one, hm?" The timbre of her saccharine words caressed her skin in the same manner a sea snake would gently curl around its prey before tightening in pursuit of murder.

Annabeth's response was diplomatic. She had been trained for situations like this _._ "It may appear so, milady."

The Baroness laughed, the sound piercing the faux-brunette's chest like frost on the morning of the First Snow, before she drew away. "Jorah will escort you to the cells to visit the whore. By Aegeon's honor and Idylla's grace will you make clear to her that her actions were deplorable and disgraceful. However, it is certain that she is well aware of it now." There was a nearly undecipherable promise of treachery underlying her words.

The hollowed pit of Annabeth's sternum ran over with frost as she registered the woman's words. _They had already caught Piper._ Meaning... she would have left the holding chamber in pursuit of an escapee already compromised, which would have done nothing but sealed her own fate. Despite the fact that her feet ached and her bruises threatened to worsen, the faux brunette was suddenly grateful that the Baroness had demanded an audience with her and Hazel.

She didn't want to think of the horrid events that might have occurred if otherwise.

The noblewoman walked over to Hazel, then. Her thin fingers gripped the girl's chin, bringing their eyes to the same level. "And as for you... _know your place._ " A sharp pause. "Iasni wench."

_Iasni?_

Annabeth couldn't keep her eyes from cutting over to her traveling companion. Was Hazel _not_ Algreni by birth? She studied her, taking in the sight of her dark brown skin and coiled black hair that gleamed and rose into the air like a gentle cloud. It was true that Hazel could easily pass as a girl born of Asnia—the wealthy ore-mining country of the Iasni Valley—but to go as far as to claim her as one of its citizens? The Iasni were notorious for neutrality, for keeping to themselves—more so than the desertfolk of Algren. Seeing anyone born of the Valley anywhere else was rarer than seeing a Northerner south of the mountains. Annabeth waited for the younger girl to glance down in denial of the accusation.

But clearly Hazel had other plans. She was tense but nodded, not even addressing the allegation brought upon her. _Wise._

The Baroness released her chin with another hum, the frequency bathing the room in an acerbic vibe. "Very well." The woman returned to her desk and shifted her voice, aiming it at the door. "Jorah!"

Not even five seconds passed before the entrance to the office was opening, allowing a flood of fresh air (or as fresh as air could be by the sea, anyways) to seep into the room. Annabeth's chin returned to its regular state, pressed to her chest. The deep baritone of Jorah's words did nothing to comfort her in spite of the fact that she was finally leaving the Baroness's presence.

"Yes, milady?"

A flick of a wrist in Annabeth's direction. "Bring her to the cells in order to see the Algreni whore. Do not permit them to speak to one another. And when _you_ deem fit, have the chained one brought back to the holding chambers. It's nearly mealtime and Lady Vene had me swear by the moon that I would have them all back in time to eat, Idylla bless her soul."

"Idylla bless her soul," was his void echo. After a quiet stretch of wordless moments, the guard then angled his body towards Hazel. "And as for this one, milady?"

"I'll have Marinius fetch her and return her to the rest of the prisoners. Do as you're told."

A stiff bow. "Of course, milady."

Jorah then mirrored his past movements, wrapping his hand around the thick chains that sprouted from Annabeth's shackles. He roughly tugged on them, jerking her forward and causing her to stumble. The faux brunette sucked in a sharp intake of air through her nostrils, eliciting a fearful glance from Hazel but nothing more. It took every sliver of repressed pride within the Eplonian princess to refrain from defending herself. She kept her head slack against her chest and followed the soldier into the dark halls.

**Ω**

In spite of it all, the dimly lit corridors of Triton’s Hold rang with more beauty than she had previously deemed worthy of giving credit for. And as such, Annabeth utilized the onslaught of this shock to distract her from the waves of pain that shot through her body with each step. The soles of her feet were nearly raw—red and sore—and the aching bruises shaded violet that littered her pale ankles did not lessen the irritation she felt either.

But the decision came down between allowing her emotions to run rampant in light of the cards she had been dealt, or rather ignore said emotions and focus on the abalone walls that ensnared both her attention and freedom. The iridescent walls of her cage glowed with a muted shine, its beauty misleading and alluring with deceit. And as much as she wished not to, the fourteen-year-old child that dwelled, hidden, within the depths of her heart forced her to appreciate it all.

Jorah stalked silently ahead, his grip on her chains refusing to lighten. Instead, with every sharp turn and harsh tug, Annabeth found herself being drawn closer and closer to his body- as if he were pulling her nearer. Bile churned in her gut at the thought, forcing her to shed the notion from her mind before her stomach rejected the little food she had eaten in the past two days.

Her gaze traveled from the abalone walls to the smooth, ironstone floors. Silver eyes lifted to the sight of the heaving ceilings that rose overhead, her attention sliding back and forth between murals and sculptures of Triesstine deities and depictions of the country's history.

The only one she recognized was that of Triton the Conqueror, the man after which the Hold was named and founder of Neptune’s Dynasty in the South. If her childhood lessons were true and were to be believed, Triton was the first King of Three, having united a trio of warring nations beneath his strength.

Annabeth could not in good conscience deny the honest fact that the sights were breathtaking. Truly, they were. But even she could recognize the simple truth that was shame of it being the products of Triesstine barbarians.

"I would keep my head down if I were you." Jorah's clipped tone broke through her trance of appreciation and critique.

Annabeth shoved her chin against her sternum without another thought, feeling the unmistakable heat that stemmed from embarrassment rising in her face. The rims of her ears flushed a furious shade of crimson. She scolded herself. How dare she forget? With a flair of gratefulness, Annabeth registered how fortunate she had been to be able to study the architecture while her and Jorah were alone.

The guard tugged her closer as they rounded another corner. He pressed on. "People like Marinius—whether they are nobility, staff, or soldier—are all over the place. This is their home. If they were to see an _Algreni slave_ with her eyes cast upwards, criticizing the pride of their art... it wouldn't be a charming sight- lesser for you than for me. In their own view, it would give them even more reason to treat you how they wish to."

He didn't elucidate who Marinius was exactly, but the intuition that had saved her from the hands of the Traitor's Coup now told her that the solider with the whip and Marinius were one and the same. Annabeth pushed the climbing growl that threatened to spew from behind her clenched teeth and resumed her stare, angling it towards her bare feet and the stone floors. She cursed herself for not keeping better awareness of her surroundings.

Silence fell between them again, and the faux brunette could not withhold her curiosity from displaying itself across her countenance. Why had Jorah warned her? She scoured his body language, his past movements, _anything,_ for an answer, but could not find one. From what she had seen previously, he wasn't attracted to her or Hazel, nor did he seem to be an Algreni sympathizer.

The next thought that scattered across the forefront of her mind chilled her senses, spinning them towards glacial temperatures. Was he aware of her secret? Was he secretly loyal to the Eplonian throne? Another treacherous notion fluttered into being. Was he a Traitor's Spy?

Alarm culminated within her as her thoughts escaped rationality and instead ran rampant, spreading austere chaos across the curves and indentations of her mind. Annabeth became so lost in herself- fear had gripped her so tightly- that it was as if reality was an unfamiliar microcosm when she was finally pulled back to it. Jorah dragged her timid steps to an inclement pause as a loud horn spread over the thin air. Annabeth didn't fail to notice his knuckles churning white as his grip tightened around her chains.

The horn sounded again, a heavy hum that shook the walls with its ominous composition. The vibrations rumbled in her bones. The guard before her swore under his breath as he abruptly turned, hauling her in the opposite direction, back towards the holding chambers. This fact alone, that he was disobeying _strict_ orders from the Baroness herself, brought her to question just what the weighted sound meant.

And as Annabeth was dragged back to where she came, barely able to keep up with the soldier responsible for her, apprehension once again struck her heart. She could not help but wonder what the horn meant for Jorah, who seemed to be wary- if not fearful- of it, but more importantly- _what it meant for her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, the meaning behind the horn is revealed, the trio makes a new friend, and annabeth learns about the heir apparent. see you next saturday!


	4. the crowds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. All rights to GRRM, RR, and everyshadedsilver for inspiring this work.
> 
> note: this chapter contains recognizable text from A Game of Thrones by GRRM. i do not claim credit for it.
> 
> also: 550+ hits already? AHH i'm in shock! thank you to everyone who comments and to everyone who left kudos. the responses that i'm getting to this fic are all so humbling and i can't wait to share it with you all. tysm for reading <3

**IV**

**"the crowds"**

**A N N A B E T H**

**ANNABETH'S** concerned thoughts startled her. _But what about Piper?_

A minuscule portion of her wanted to struggle against Jorah's grip on her chains, but she managed to ignore it by placing her faith in logic, just as her mother had always taught her. She was a Minerva just as much as she was a Karstagne, an owl as much as she was a wolf. But as they headed back in the direction from which they came, still her vision swam.

Multifaceted notions bubbled to the surface of her mind, confusing her and disallowing her from thinking rationally. What was going on?

Through it all, Jorah's pace did not slow.

He continued to pull her around corners and turns, never once glancing back. And from the barely noticeable sheen of sweat that emerged on the back of his neck, she realized that he was _scared._ His body language screamed anxiety, apprehension, and alarm. That fact alone was enough to force her to reevaluate the situation for the umpteenth time.

What exactly was she missing?

The wound on her tongue smarted when the faintly glowing walls tremored with the sounding of the horn yet again. All coherent thought lost significance as Annabeth winced, clenching her jaw, and forced herself to keep from tripping over her own feet. But that proved to be difficult as Jorah audibly swore ahead of her. His pace _quickened,_ much to her chagrin. When he rounded the next bend, her elbow barely skimmed the sharp corner of the abalone walls. Her sharp intake of breath must have elicited his apology.

"Sorry," he tossed a quiet mumble over his shoulder before continuing with his hasty gait. His grip on her chains loosened, stretching the space between them by a few centimeters.

Shock triggered by his actions rose within her, but Annabeth had no time to further react as he pushed through a set of double doors and dragged her into a significantly darker hallway. If she had closed her eyes and continued walking, it would have made no difference. Macabre obscurity swallowed her whole as Jorah pressed forward, his sandals slapping against the smooth ironstone floors.

" _Watch your head_ ," his warning fluttered to her ears in the tone of a wary whisper. There was a specific strain underlying his words that told her to heed the advice.

Immediately, Annabeth ducked. The crown of her head scraped against an unknown object not a full moment afterward. Again, confusion bubbled within her chest. But Annabeth couldn't bring herself to voice her concerns. In this moment, where tension clearly rang behind his every motion, she supposed that it didn't matter.

She couldn't, however, keep from worrying over the fact that he was taking a route that she was not familiar with. Now, more than ever, she was at the complete mercy of a man she did not know- a man whose position of power was _notorious_ for unspeakable acts. She ignored her fears. She had to. And instead, the escaped princess settled with pressing her chin to her sternum and following silently.

Somehow, Annabeth brought herself to ignore the shame that simmered in her gut. Her mother, her father, her brothers, _Eplonia_ — they would all be sickened by her complacency. She was sure of it. And as much as she attempted to utilize wisdom as the justification for her actions, the darkest corners of her mind whispered ill-nothings. They spoke of her truth: that her excuse for prudence was, in reality, cowardice thinly veiled. She found no valid reason to combat that notion but tried to push it from the forefront of her conscience nonetheless.

Jorah persisted with his mission. As he hauled her back into the dim light of Triton’s Hold, pushing through another set of thick iron doors, Annabeth noticed that his muscles were aligned tightly. He was stiff. Her gaze lifted momentarily, falling to the recognizable sight of the abalone walls and thoughtful murals on the ceilings. Their familiarity was only lightly heartwarming in the midst of the sudden chaos.

But that thin warmth was short-lived as Annabeth came to the realization that they were nearing the holding chamber. She was being dragged right back to the beginning... _without Piper._

In spite of herself, she feared for the younger girl's demise. In spite of the fact that it was Piper's fault that she was being dragged around on bruised feet, Annabeth couldn't help but let her thoughts travel to the Algreni. Piper was already so disenfranchised... but now to be left at the complete mercy of whatever it was that Jorah feared? To be left alone in the cells, wherever they were, while seasoned guards hurried for their lives?

Her heart thrummed with more strength at the idea.

 _This was wrong._ Annabeth was sure that it was, but then her ankles throbbed once more beneath their iron grip and the sound of rattling chains reached her ears. She was again reminded why and how she was powerless in this situation. Annabeth was a princess, and yet she could do nothing for the friend of her traveling companion.

Uncounted time passed, leaving Annabeth's mind numb. Every step she took only solidified her fears and Jorah's quickened breaths confirmed them. When the doors of the holding chamber loomed into view, however, her heart rate intensified. Jorah tugged her closer the minute the soldiers who were guarding the doors noticed them. Annabeth, remembering her place, sank her canines into the skin lining the inside of her cheek and pressed her chin further against her sternum.

The pair of them finally came to a stop. The rhythm of her heart drummed in her ears, each beat pumping another dose of smoke and fire conceived through confusion and apprehension beneath her skin.

"State your business." A gravelly voice sounded from Annabeth's left. It was soon followed by the unmistakable intonation of danger as the piercing sound of a sword being pulled from its scabbard sliced the air in two.

Jorah scoffed, tugging Annabeth forwards, before replying. "What does it look like, Pentos? I'm bringing one of the prisoners back." His tone bordered on exasperation, and from what she could see, his foot tapped against the ironstone floors and his free fist clenched and unclenched. The guard in charge of her was either extremely irritated or extremely anxious, but based on what she had just witnessed, Annabeth figured that his emotions were more likely a mixture of both.

The walls shook again before the soldiers guarding the doors to the holding chamber could respond. All parties tensed when the horn emitted another oscillating wave of vibrations that rumbled in their bones. A high-pitched screech echoed through the air—as if a beast were unleashing its fury. Annabeth had never heard anything like it before, and the fear that sparked in her chest and turned her thoughts to sand reflected as such.

When the noise finally subsided, Jorah's words were frantic. "Pentos," he began. "I have duties to fulfill, but before I can do that, this prisoner must be returned to Prisoner’s Hall. Keeping her out here isn't a good look for anyone, and you _know_ how the Baroness reacts when her halls are untidy." The rest of what Jorah had to make clear hung in the air, unspoken but clearly addressed.

There was a long stretch of silence before Pentos grunted and sheathed his sword nonetheless. "As far as we're all concerned, these halls belong to the High Lord, High Lady, and the Heir Apparent." A breathy pause, before, "But you're right. Hand her over and do what you have to do."

Jorah released a breath of relief, his anxiety seemingly fading away, before he resumed his stoic stance. He loosened his grip on Annabeth's chains and dipped into a low bow, pressing his fist against his heart. "The Brother’s blessings to you, Pentos. I always knew you were a graceful man." Then, he fully pulled Annabeth in front of him and handed the iron length of her shackles to the other guard who had yet to speak.

Annabeth kept her chin aligned with her chest as she listened to him hurry away down the hall. Confusion still hummed in her bones, but there was another sentiment picking at the back of her mind that told her something else.

As the doors opened and the escaped princess was led back to her own personal prison alongside the other conquests, she couldn't help but think that she had witnessed something profound.

For some reason, Jorah appeared to be more afraid of the horn than the other guards...

_Why?_

_What was it that he feared so earnestly?_

**Ω**

She needed something to obsess over, something to keep her mind away from her fear. It was a horrible habit of hers, but it was all she had. So she found herself going through each of his past movements, through the entire experience. While the other guards had just tensed when the horn sounded, Jorah had wholly flinched. He had become disillusioned to his surroundings. He had-

"Asteria!"

Annabeth's chin didn't stray from its position, but after spending several weeks traveling with it, she could identify the voice anywhere. But her recognition only strengthened her confusion. What was Piper doing out of the cells?

The soldiers closed the door behind her and Annabeth lifted her gaze to see Hazel and Piper across the room, still in the corner that they had claimed hours before. Hazel was waving her over shyly, but it was the figure beside her that snared Annabeth's focus. Annabeth's breath caught in her throat for a moment as her attention zeroed in on the wounds that marred Piper's face. There were too many to count.

She took a tender step forward, wincing when she planted the soles of her bruised feet against the stone floors. As Annabeth slowly made her way closer to the pair of prisoners, she recognized that the image only grew more grotesque. The Algreni's hands and feet were tied together completely with a thick rope that no doubt bit into her skin (as proven by the vivid crimson that stained her skin beneath its grip). Her iron shackles had been removed from her hands and feet only to make its reappearance around her neck. Blood dripped from her busted lip, and one of her versicolored irises had disappeared behind a nasty purple bruise that forced her eye to close entirely.

"They beat you." Annabeth still managed to keep her words balanced as ever when she sank into position beside Hazel, pressing her back into the smooth stone walls. She forced herself to look into her face.

Piper hummed a bit before releasing a grin. Her teeth were stained red. "They did. But I lived..." She tugged her chin upwards as best as she could without the neck chain's interference, her slight arrogance shining through clearer than sunlight. "They can't kill me." And then her smile took a wicked turn. "And the other bitch's nose is broken, so this is all a win for me, honestly."

Hazel huffed in annoyance. "I already told you, Piper. _They were_ _going to kill you._ The Baroness said it herself." Her tone grew a bit fearful as she recounted the noblewoman's words. "She practically declared you an enemy of the royal house, Piper. _The royal house._ The only reason why you're sitting here is because some noblewoman named Lady Vene told the Baroness to have compassion." A paused sanctioned by a frown, then, "Don't be so cocky."

If she cared enough, Annabeth would have applauded the younger of the two Algreni's for being the voice of reason in her stead. But she didn't. In fact, she was barely tuned into the conversation. Instead, her thoughts kept traveling back to Jorah and his questionable actions. More specifically, his fear and his _apology._

She couldn't get over it. _Just what was it that he feared so much?_

Annabeth turned to them, furrowing her brows as she attempted to make conversation in hopes that they would have answers. "What was that horn that kept going off? It made the soldiers uneasy." She angled her neck to cast a few glances at the new guards that lined the walls, all of whom were staring the conquests down in the same manner Eplonians regarded snow rats. She forced down the contemptuous growl that threatened to rise in her throat at the sight of that.

Hazel shrugged with a small frown tugging on the corners of her pillowy lips. "I'm not sure, to be honest." She then glanced around, biting her lip and lowering her tone. "But I've heard rumors that they're a signal."

Annabeth's eyebrows lifted just barely. "A signal? For what?"

The young girl before her leaned in, her ichorous eyes darkening as if she were passing on a secret with treacherous content. "For the Heir Apparent... _the Darksnake's return._ "

She found herself leaning away while holding back a shattered breath. Her mother's words rang loud and clear in her ears. _Triesstine royalty will forever be tainted with impudence and have a barbaric nature. They may be savage folk, but they warrant fear._ But even so, Annabeth was doubtful. Annabeth tugged on the ends of her hair before shifting away. "Surely he isn't _that_ bad for the soldiers to be in such a panic over his return... right?"

Both Hazel and Piper hummed in unison, the vibrations evidently disagreeing with Annabeth's words.

Piper sank her canines into her lower lip before replying, fiddling with her own fingers and peering at them intently. "I don't know, Asteria. I've heard some stuff about the Heir... and they aren't pretty. Not in the slightest."

"Is that so?" Annabeth could barely hide the curiosity from filtering her words as she fixed her clasped hands over her lap. "Enlighten me then, Piper. Why is it that the Heir Apparent is so _commonly_ referred to as the Darksnake? By his own people, no less." Which, in all manners of honesty to Annabeth, said so much about Triesso in itself _._ But she decided not to elucidate further or put a voice to her thoughts.

There was a time and place for everything, and she knew that it wasn't right then and there. Not with so many enemies surrounding her.

Piper shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I don't know why he's called _that_ , but I've heard that he leaves-"

Another one of the prisoners leaned over Piper's shoulder, her hair pitch black and her eyes a strange mixture of blue and grey. In another world, Annabeth would have pegged her as a girl born of the Mount. "I hear that you're talking about the Darksnake?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and angled her body in a way that forced her into their tiny circle.

All three parties were silent as they stared at her.

The new prisoner either didn't care or refused to acknowledge their lack of response as she continued, fiddling with her chains. "My name's Valeria. And I've been all over the room and _apparently_ that's all anyone can talk about. I've heard plenty of stories about the prince." Her thick eyebrows lifted as she turned to glance at them each in turn, a playful glint in her eyes. "Would you like to hear it?"

The smallest of chills tiptoed up the bones of Annabeth's spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps and unease in its wake. Something told her that this was taboo, but before she could wisely bow out, Piper nodded, solidifying their fates with one movement.

"Please," she croaked.

Valeria made a humming sound at the back of her throat, the noise riddled with an inflection that stated she had been expecting such an answer. But before her lips could poise in response, the walls shook again once more.

Hazel's hand came flying down to grip Annabeth's wrist as the horn ripped through the quiet bustle of the holding chamber, her breath audibly catching in her throat. Around them, prisoners hurried to the windows and peered out, an unforeseen maniacal energy flowing through the room as the conquests tripped over each other to get a glance at something or someone. The chills that filmed Annabeth's breaths and skin grew colder and she found herself inching towards the windows to see what the commotion was about.

There was an empty one a few feet away, and so she shuffled towards it, hauling Hazel in her wake. Said girl hissed in her direction as Annabeth stood up with aching bones and shaking knees. _She was tired._ "Asteria, _what are you doing_?"

Annabeth didn't respond. And perhaps she couldn't even if she tried. Her father had always told her that her curiosity and her pride would one day be her downfall, and the fact that she stood on bruised feet, scouring the dew-slick streets of Triesso for something she didn't know to look for only bolstered his claim. But then a flash of black appeared in her peripherals and the escaped princess followed it without a second thought, angling her head in its direction.

Her breath caught in her throat as she registered the rapidly increasing throngs of Triesstine citizens that seemed to be pushing each other for a closer look at... _what was that?_

There was a masculine figure riding on a black horse, flanked by burly guards in thick, fur-lined cloaks. The guards carried spears with jagged edges. But it was the man that drew Annabeth's attention. He sat rigidly upon his stallion, his hair a deep shade of midnight that seemingly inhaled what little of the scarce light that broke through the thick clouds smothering the sun. He too was clothed in dark furs, with a stretch of fabric pulled over the bottom half of his face.

Valeria's voice startled Annabeth. "Ah, there's the man of the hour."

Annabeth's eyebrows furrowed. "That's the Heir Apparent?" She studied him closer... or as close as she could from her view hundreds of yards away. Her focus landed on the sinister swords strapped to his back. "Why would the Prince of Triesso be dressed like..." She trailed off, realizing that finishing the sentence could very well lead to her demise.

_He was dressed like an Eplonian._

But she, _Asteria_ , wasn't supposed to know what Eplonians looked or dressed like.

Hazel cocked her head a bit to the side. "Wait... I've seen those guards," she murmured mostly to herself. But Annabeth heard her. She always heard her. "Those are warriors from the Southern... Ice Tribes of Yza."

_The Southern Ice Tribes. Yza._

The name was familiar to Annabeth, one she had heard mentioned in passing when she was younger, back when war between Eplonia and Triesso appeared to be inevitable in spite of the peace treaties that kept them away from each other’s necks. Little facts were known about the people group: just that they were Triesso's fiercest allies—more so than the Western Isles—and bred some of the most sadistic, inherently cruel men to walk the earth south of the Eplon mountains. For months, it seemed, all anyone could speak of were the rumors of bloodsoaked rituals and forsaken practices that could churn a stable mind towards insanity if inadequately prepared for.

The thought of it made Annabeth’s skin scrawl, reminding her the tales that Hestia told her and her brothers at the hearth, the firelight always making the woman’s words ever more ominous. Their isles were surrounded by ice, much like the North and its mountains, but the Tribesmen of Yza did not have Khione—Mother of Winter—to guide them. Tribesmen were a godless people, Hestia used to say. Rumors said that they consorted with monsters of many heads and giants of many hands, stole little girls in the dead of night, and drank blood straight from the veins of the slain. Hestia said that their chosen women, all warriors, would lay with the Titans in the peak of the Bitter Winter to sire mongrel half-demon children with blood that ran as gold as the metals hidden in the base of the Ore Mounts in the Valley.

Taking that fact into account, Annabeth studied the crowds with more intent. With a speed that stopped her heart, she registered the unadulterated _fear_ that screamed through their body language. The Triesstine all parted around their Prince in the same manner that water did oil, flinching away when he drew near and casting their eyes in what seemed to be opposite directions.

They feared him. His own people feared him.

Past memories consumed Annabeth’s thoughts, and her mind wandered to her brothers, the princes of Eplonia. It wandered to the many Wednesday evenings, the highest point of the week, when all those who dwelled within the vaulting walls of the Torch would gather at the Blest Mount of Kryfort and pray to the Nine Mothers. The gentle hum of the prayers filled her ears, and she could almost smell the burning incense, the sound of stone cracking against stone. Kissed by fire, the mountainfolk would say in regard to Malcolm’s red-golden gleaming hair in between murmurs. Blest by Thoena—Mother of the Night—they would say about Luke as they approached the carving of the Seventh Muse. The princes of Eplonia, her dear brothers, were far from feared. They were adored.

As for the people of Triesso, however…

Turning her thoughts back towards their original track, Annabeth refocused on the situation at hand. She noticed that the Heir Apparent had disappeared from view, and no matter how much she craned her neck, she wasn't able to see more of him through the thin window that aided her in the first place.

A warm hand descended on her shoulder, and Annabeth found herself tearing her gaze away to meet Valeria's blue-grey eyes. In turn, Hazel gripped the faux-brunette's forearms and the pair of girls began to tug her away from the window, back towards Piper who dejectedly remained in the same position due to her bound hands and feet.

"You're shaking, Asteria," Hazel explained. Her tone came in hushed whispers, her eyes sympathetic for reasons unknown.

Annabeth reeled as she sank back to her former spot. Around her, the prisoners hobbled back to their positions as the rumors were confirmed. The Darksnake had returned to Triesso and judging by the body language of the citizens that surrounded them, many were apprehensive of that fact.

The four of them were silent for an eight beat count before Hazel's words shattered it, cracking the tangible air between them into a million pieces. "Why... why didn't they seem happy to see him?" Her ichorous irises were trained on the smooth floors underfoot, her question seemingly aimed at no one in particular.

Valeria jumped at the opportunity to speak. "Well, he _is_ called the Darksnake for a reason. I think it's safe to say that the title is warranted in some sense or the other."

Annabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead glaring down at the grotesque bruises that littered her ankles. After drawing in several breaths, Annabeth forced herself to look at the new addition in the face with a passive expression and a balanced tone. "Well then, elucidate, Valeria. We're all curious."

Said prisoner regarded her for a moment with narrowed eyes. Her next words shook Annabeth to her very core, chilling the escaped princess to the bone. " _Elucidate_..." Valeria made a face. "You're pretty well-spoken for an Algreni commoner." Her pearly irises disappeared further behind her tightened eyelids. She gave her a glance over. "Where are you from?"

Annabeth had to fight the urge to stutter that was typically born from anxiety. She responded with as much brevity that she could muster. "The Burilese district." She half-lied straight through her clenched teeth. "My family worked for a minor noble family, so I grew up around well-spoken folk."

Piper snorted. " _Rich folk_."

Annabeth feigned a low chuckle and forced her shoulders through the motion of a shrug. "That... is very true." Then, taking the opportunity to shift the topic of conversation back to Valeria and her alleged knowledge of rumors, she turned to the girl in question. "Anyways, you said that you know stories about the prince." Another shrug. "We might as well kill time."

Valeria hummed and tucked her feet beneath her, her legs folding and her chains noisily moving across the stone. "As I was saying earlier..."

**Ω**

She couldn't believe her ears.

The rumors had long since begun to blend together, fiction mixing with more fiction until it was impossible to tell which sliver of untruth was in the wrong place. Valeria recounted a plethora of stories that seemed too supernatural to be true. She spoke of the Prince's mysterious disappearance when he was a child, how he was beloved and viewed as a gift from the Triesstine god of the sea, Aegeon, up until he vanished. She spoke of his sudden return and the changes he brought with it; how everyone hailed him as the Young Leviathan to his face and whispered _Darksnake_ behind his back.

The Heir Apparent, by rumor, was blessed (or cursed, as considered by many) with certain abilities that made him more dangerous than the average man. Valeria claimed that he had the ability to conjure up storms, to twist the very water that ran through one's blood as he so desired, to sink entire fleets within minutes. She claimed that the Darksnake was a descendant of Aegeon himself—that his eyes glowed green as the Deep with power, that he could breathe beneath the onslaught of the fiercest waves, that he shook the earth itself in bouts of vicious anger, that his tantrums left entire chambers flooded and furniture destroyed. 

And as her stories continued, each one more infernal than the last, reality slowly began to settle in for Annabeth. With each breath that she took, she was reminded of the crowd's reaction as the prince rode through the streets. She was reminded of Jorah's actions when the horn signaling the heir's return sounded again and again. She recognized the pure terror that had been instilled in every being that was affiliated with Triesso.

With a jolt, Annabeth realized her true enemy, _her true danger._

Ever since she had come to realize that her next destination was Triesso, the escaped princess of Eplonia had been submerged in pools of apprehension regarding the High Lord. She had been worried that he would somehow become aware of her existence and put an end to her bloodline.

But as she sat in the holding chamber, shackles against shackles, chains to chains, her back pressed into the walls that comprised her cage, Annabeth realized that she had _plenty_ more to fear in the future High Lord of Triesso than in the current one.

For if a country had reason to openly fear its own leader, she couldn't help but wonder what damage a banned outsider such as herself would suffer if forsakenly discovered.

And it was that unhinging rationale that elicited her breath to leave her lungs without a second thought as the doors of the holding chamber were slammed open, and more soldiers came pouring in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter, we get a glimpse into annabeth's early days in algren as well as her life back when her family was still alive! how fun! prepare to witness some eplonia worldbuilding and good ol' family fluff :) see you next saturday!


	5. for your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 850+ hits? i’m astounded! ty to all who read this, it means so much to me :)
> 
> from here on out, this work is all my own writing unless i specifically state otherwise.
> 
> note: i've gotten a few pms about this so i'd like to point out that karstagne is pronounced KAHR-stain, not car-STAG-knee.... just making that clear! the g is silent!  
> the name is written with french language rules in mind, so in case if anyone was confused.... now you know!
> 
> another note: pretend that Randolph is younger than Frederick, okay?
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. All rights to GRRM, RR, and everyshadedsilver for inspiring this work.
> 
> enjoy!! <3

**V**

**"for your face."**

**A N N A B E T H**

**PIPER** hissed, scooting backwards to press herself against the biting jaggedness of the stone walls that comprised their cage. Valeria scattered, slinking away as if afraid that she had been caught speaking on matters taboo. Collective breaths were held, and the prisoners furled around their bodies, chained wrists clanging against each other as they enveloped their knees with their arms, attempting to appear as small as possible. With so many soldiers streaming into the room in the same manner as a gurgling brook, the air thickened with tensity. After long, slow seconds that felt like hours, the last of the guards entered, lining the walls, their presence heralded by the familiar slapping of expensive leather sandals against the smooth floors.

By reflex, all of the conquests lowered their heads, and Annabeth was far from being an exception. The Karstagne heiress brushed her chin against her sternum. There was a flash of lengthy black hair in the front of the room, and the Karstagne heiress waited for the haughty voice that would fill the thick silence.

Sure enough, the Baroness finally addressed them all. "It appears that you desert scum have finally got a glimpse at your future ruler." Her words gave way to a chuckle that was more cavalier than not. "I truly do enjoy the smell of apprehension. It rolls off the body like perfume, don’t you agree, my Lady?"

An unprecedented gentler voice cut into the woman's laugh. "Don't torture them so, Lady Drew." There was then a pause. "I'm sure they've heard all the stories of the Heir Apparent. Any sane man, woman, and child would fear Aegeon’s Blessed."

The Baroness cleared her throat, evidently embarrassed based on the inflection of her following words. "Forgive me, Lady Vene. You know it was not my intention to insult your betrothed."

There was a brief silence, the context with which Annabeth imagined being spent by Lady Vene waving her hand in well-natured assurance. "None to forgive, my Lady,” the woman responded. Lady Vene spoke kindly, but there was a steel in her voice that compelled Annabeth to pay close attention. She continued. “Now, mealtime is prepared and I'm sure that the conquests desire _some_ form of food. They’ve been travelling for many moons and conquest is tiring business.”

“Of course, my Lady,” the Baroness agreed. Her words bled with docility despite her ominous tone. “It is our duty to fulfill the promises of the Sister. Hospitality, even to those who don’t deserve it, is an unalienable right… even to _aliens._ ”

Beside her, Annabeth heard Piper exhale bitterly through her pursed lips. Her bruises were beginning to gloss over, and the sight made the Northerner’s stomach turn. _They would’ve killed me,_ she reminded herself. Annabeth swallowed thickly and forced her gaze away.

“An interesting choice of words, Lady Drew, but I digress.” The doors were pulled open, and half of the guards began to exit the room. “I’m afraid that I have other concerns that require my attention, but I know that I leave this situation in more than capable hands. Your zeal for the pride of Triesso is admirable, and there is no one else I would place in charge of this endeavor.”

“You honor me, my Lady.” The Baroness’s robes swirled as she dipped into a well-practiced curtsy. “Thank you.”

“They are only words befitting a woman as graceful as you. I'll leave you to it.” And without another word, Lady Vene strolled from the room just as quickly as she had entered.

With the absence of half the soldiers, Annabeth’s chest lightened considerably. But even so, her senses hummed with anxiety at the fact that the Baroness was still present and had been given complete reign over the prisoners by a woman who seemingly wielded even more power than she.

Silence filled the Prisoner’s Hall, a sound so sinister than Annabeth could’ve heard a snowflake dropping all the way in Eplonia if she trained her ears hard enough. She schooled her breaths, chin pressed against her chest, and dragged the tips of her fingers across the smooth floors of her cage.

“Guards!” The Baroness’s voice sliced the tense air in two.

Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut. _Blest muses,_ she murmured in her mind. The pads of her fingertips ghosted over the ironstone. _Mothers of the Mount,_ she continued. Ironstone was nowhere near of the same caliber of the stone of the Eplon range, but it would have to make do. Annabeth envisioned the Torch, and her heart panged. _Protect me now in these hours of darkness…_

The noblewoman at the front of the room continued on, and the fear that rippled through the room by evidence of hunched body language goaded her words. “Lead them to the servant’s dining room. They have thirty minutes to eat before they are given their rooms.”

No sooner had the words left her lips did the Triesstine soldiers begin to advance on the conquests. Annabeth lifted her head, foolishly, and caught sight of the woman staring at them all with her lips lifted into a disdainful sneer. Apprehension bubbling in her gut and looking away before she could get caught, Annabeth met Hazel’s golden eyes, smeared with panic as she was, for the second time that day, tugged away at the hands of brutes.

Annabeth swallowed down the hoarse outcry that threatened to spill over her lips, and allowed the calloused fingers digging into the skin of her forearms to pull her towards the doors. For reasons unknown, the conquests were separated from their found groups and were mixed, shoved into a thick line before being pushed through the doors of Prisoner’s Hall. Annabeth found herself encompassed by Algreni strangers, all with the tell-tale strange eyes and brown hair.

They were led through the halls of Triton’s Hold. Keeping Jorah’s warning fresh in her mind, Annabeth kept her chin pressed tightly to her sternum. Lining the walls were soldiers, and who knew how many of them were like Marinius? Were like the Baroness? The thought made her internally recoil, followed by a struggle with keeping her tightened scowl at bay.

_Triesstine barbarians._

Goosebumps emerged on her pale skin. Their chains dragged across the floors, the sound as foreboding as ever. Through her peripherals, Annabeth took note of the fact that the other servantry of Triton’s Hold were not shackled. Their features spoke truth of varying ethnic backgrounds, ranging in all skin shades and eye colors and hair textures. It was because of this, and this alone, that she had hope that her days in chains would come to an end soon enough.

Before long, they were led into the servant’s quarters. Here, the air was mustier and the corridors were narrower. There was no intricate decoration etched into the abalone walls, no soldiers stationed at evenly spaced intervals. Art did not coalesce on the vaulting ceilings, teardrops of glass and diamonds did not flutter down from crevices unknown like bejeweled rain.

There was hardly enough space for all of them to get through. The prisoners were funneled into the halls leading into the servant’s quarters. Someone from behind Annabeth shoved her roughly, and she stumbled, her bare feet skidding across the uneven stones and her bruises throbbing. She hissed, her lips poised to spill over with curses, but she caught herself as best as she could. Not even daring to chance a look at the perpetrator behind her for fear that a soldier would grab her in retaliation, Annabeth pressed on.

“Sorry,” a timid voice whispered from behind her.

The escaped princess exhaled softly. “S’fine,” she murmured, slurring her words together in order to both avoid detection and appear to be lowborn. Valeria’s suspicion from only an hour before had stunned her to the core. It was only luck that she had been able to think as quickly on her feet as she did, only luck that she had been able to shift the object of attention back towards the Heir Apparent. If she was to truly pass off as an Algreni commoner, she had to step it up. Carefully crafted lies could only go so far.

Luke was proof of that.

 _The mountains remember,_ Annabeth told herself as she swallowed down all painful thoughts of her eldest brother. _They remember, and House Karstagne will rise again. We are of fire and stone._

Fire and stone; the mountain wolf and the snow owl; Karstagne and Minerva. Comforting words, but only words. She knew that.

It was her duty to make sure that the words became truth and nothing short of that.

Her birthright.

**Ω**

“What… what _is_ this?” Piper hissed in her ear, her breath fanning towards her cheek. “They don’t _really_ expect us to eat… _this_ , do they?”

Annabeth stared down at the plate of food set before her, her stomach turning over at the sight. Leave it to the sea snakes to conjure up a meal that would make cattle’s gruel seem appetizing. Her appetite was waning enough from the sight of all the bruises that littered the bodies of the prisoners surrounding them. If there was one thing she missed about the prison cart, it was the obscurity that disallowed her vision from fully realizing the sheer depth of their wounds. But here in Triton’s Hold, where windows littered the walls and sunlight poured through with an evident vengeance, it was as if she could not break away from it at all.

Across from them, Valeria shoveled a forkful into her mouth. Clearly, she had no qualms for digesting it, but perhaps that was simply a wiser choice. Who knew when the Baroness would let them eat again? Deciding to follow her example, Annabeth spooned the shining sliver of dark green into her mouth, recoiling at its bitter taste before swallowing it down. She pressed her lips together, her stomach gurgling, and tried her best not to vomit.

“Is no one going to answer my question?” Piper demanded, her fork left abandoned as her fingers grabbed at the collar around her neck. Her eyes were tightened in annoyance. “Hazel?”

The girl in mention wasn’t uncharacteristically quiet, but her mind seemed to be in another place. Valeria had to nudge her several times before she lifted her head. “What?” Hazel exhaled, eyes flitting over their faces. She met Annabeth’s mildly concerned gaze and looked away before the escaped princess could make another move.

Undeterred, Piper motioned to the food crowding the pewter plates before them. “Do you know what this is?”

Hazel picked up her fork, poking at it with a frown. “Boiled seaweed, I think. But I can’t be sure. I’ve never been to Eplantis before, so I could be wrong.”

Valeria shrugged. “Whatever it is, I’m just glad that we have something to eat. I’m _starved_.” Then, to further drive emphasis into her words, she shoved another bite of seaweed into her mouth.

Annabeth stared down at it. The strands were tangled up, reminded her of snakes. _How fitting_ , she wanted to laugh. The seaweed was submerged in a thickened pool of yellowed slime, the image of it repulsive as ever. But still, with her mind’s ears, she could hear Luke’s stern voice.

 _Eat it,_ he whispered to her.

Her senses halted and her eyes fluttered shut. Gone was the servant’s dining room, and in its stead was the back alleys of Algren’s Burilese district. Dust and sand packed beneath her nails, grime coated her skin, and brown rags covered her where silk used to drape. Smoke billowed into the air, plumed by fires set aflame by the Ones Who Could Not Help Themselves. Her mouth tasted like blood; her tongue thick with the liquor that Luke had snagged from the vendor while she’d distracted him. Lungs clogged, chest weighted, and still she could not find it within herself to complain.

 _They’re scorpion eggs,_ Luke continued. The unapologetic blue of his irises appeared hazy through the syrupy black cloud of fumes that cloaked the alley. If she stared at him too long, her eyes would start to sting.

Annabeth stared down at the wooden bowl cradled in her lap. Her stomach gurgled and she frowned. _Isn’t that… dangerous,_ she’d asked. Her hair, not yet dyed brown, was a curling silver-gold in the humid moonlight. She’d never felt so much a Northerner as she did then.

 _If you avoid the pincer, you won’t get any of the venom,_ he urged.

Annabeth took note of the fact that he hadn’t touched it yet either. _I’d rather go without tonight,_ she said with resolution. She pushed the bowl away, dumping the eggs in a dark corner, and huddled further against the wall, clutching her stomach. _I’m sure we can find some berries on our way out tomorrow. No need to eat… scorpion eggs._

She was jostled, then, and Annabeth opened her eyes once more. Reminding herself that she was in public, she shoved another forkful of seaweed between her teeth, trying to avoid her tongue at all costs, and swallowed without chewing.

“You’re gonna choke,” Valeria half-jested as she watched her. If not for the grays that surrounded her pupils, the black of her hair could’ve earned her a position among the Lower Tier sectors of Eplantis. If she were so ambitious, she could’ve posed as a Triesstine citizen. “It’s not _that_ good.”

“It’s not good at all,” Annabeth said. She swallowed down another bite and held back a shudder. “But I’ve eaten worse.” Her heart thumped. “Much worse.”

Piper and Hazel said nothing, but the newest addition to their group refused to remove her eyes from the escaped princess. “I heard that the nobles in Burilese tend to be a bit… overexcited when it comes to servant’s meals.” She leaned forward, eyebrows turning upwards with an air of conspiracy, and lowered her voice. “Is it true that some were forced to eat goat slop?”

Annabeth clenched the handle of her cutlery, her jaw tightening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She managed not to stutter, much to her credit. Staring into Valeria’s eyes, a thread of horror lanced through her chest. Was it… was it possible that she was a Traitor’s Spy? She had the eyes of a Northerner, and Annabeth herself was more than enough proof that all shades of hair could be dyed darker. Schooling her expression as best as she could, the heir to House Karstagne took another bite of her boiled seaweed. Whether or not Valeria knew of her true blood, she couldn’t be trusted. Not now.

Too much was at stake.

Piper joined the conversation then. “That’s disgusting,” she said before taking a bite herself. If her facial wounds bothered her in any way, she didn’t let on. “More disgusting than this ocean vomit, anyway.” Her nose wrinkled as she stared down at the practically untouched meal on her plate before gently pushing it away. “I’d rather not.”

Hazel sighed audibly after slurping the last of her food. “I would eat if I were you, Piper.” Her words were too even, too balanced, to be anything other than calculated with precision. “Now isn’t the time to get all testy like you do.”

Annabeth stared at her, the wisdom that lurked beneath her words grasping her attention. _How old was she?_ Two silver eyes roamed over her face, trying to gauge the age range of her features. Hazel didn’t appear to be older than fifteen, but her guesses could be wrong.

Piper frowned. “Who gets testy?”

“You do. All the time. And now is _not_ the time. We don’t know when we’ll get to eat again, _if_ we get to eat again. The fact that they’re giving us plates, utensils, and a whole room to eat in is off putting enough. You might as well take advantage of it.”

Piper grumbled, but listened to the younger girl’s words nonetheless. She made quick work of finishing her food, her face twisting in distaste with every bite.

Annabeth’s lips flickered into a tiny smile, and in her mind’s eye she saw her brother Malcolm—notorious for his good-naturedness and obedience—shoving away from him at the dinner table plates of food he found revolting, red-golden hair curling over his furrowed brow and pale fingers dancing over the edges of the tabletops and her mother sighing in exasperation at it all.

 _The mountains remember,_ Luke’s voice told her again. Her smile bittered some and Annabeth aimed her eyes to her lap. _You will take back what is ours by birthright with fire and stone. We are Karstagnes, Little Silver. In a world as cruel as this one, wear it like armor and never forget it._

But Luke was gone, as was Malcolm, as was their mother and father and entire family and everyone who dwelled within the Torch. Annabeth’s chest heaved and she sank her teeth into her tongue, relishing the pain as it was the only respite from the turmoil that fogged her lungs and cloaked her mind in grief.

_The last Karstagne, the last Minerva, alone in the world._

How often had her brothers poked fun at her, naming her the Lone Wolf of the Torch, naming her the Sole Owl of their walls wrought with fire and stone?

Her thoughts spat with acerbity, _Lone Wolf, Sole Owl indeed._

Thirty minutes passed with hardly anything to account for its significance. The majority of the prisoners had swallowed down their meals almost as soon as it was placed in front of them, leaving many on-edge and, in truth, prepared for when the doors were thrown open and the Baroness strolled in with her familiar shadow of Triesstine soldiers.

The noblewoman said not a word, hardly gave them a glance, before motioning to the doors she had just breezed through and walking out. With soundless provocation, Annabeth and her newfound acquaintances were seized by their chains and shoved into lines once more. When a guard gripped her round the waist and muttered faint obscenities beneath his breath, his tone fulsome and chilling as the words caressed the back of her neck and his fingers dug into the bare skin of her sides, Annabeth could do nothing but press her chin to her sternum and shrink away.

 _I am a mountain wolf,_ she wanted to cry out. _I am Annabeth Althena Karstagne!_ she wanted to scream. But she would do no such thing, no matter how much the fire of battle simmered in her blood, how much her senses ached for another fight.

 _Think with emotion,_ her mother had always said. _But act with logic._

Annabeth, although grievous and vengeful, would rather hang from the tall trees of the Peak Wood by her own hand than dishonor the memory of her mother, for whom she had been given her second name. Queen Athena VII of House Minerva, the Flame Owl of Athyns, and the strongest woman Annabeth had ever known, would never yield to barbarian hands, would never allow her feathers to be ruffled by that of lowly sea snakes. _Bend Not, Break Not_ were the words of Minerva as much as _Of Fire And Stone_ were of Karstagne. Annabeth was as much a Minerva, as much an owl, as she was a mountain wolf born of the Torch. She would always be a Minerva.

Always.

And it was these thoughts alone that quelled her urge to fight back as the soldier’s fingers dipped towards dangerous territory, travelling from the pebbled, cold skin of her waistline to her hips swathed in Triesstine navy blue. Annabeth’s body went rigid, and her stomach vaulted at the thought of forcing herself to remain passive in the face of such abasement.

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” He whispered against the skin of her ear, tugging her towards the line yet keeping her away from the rest of the conquests. His words dressed themselves in an accent so lowborn she could hardly decipher it.

She swallowed thickly, pressed her chin against her chest, and did not respond.

The soldier laughed, a sharp sound that reminded her of steel blades trailing across stone, leaving a sea of sparks in its wake. The familiarity chilled her and when Annabeth hunched her shoulders for a small moment of forgotten strength, his laughter rose higher.

“Shy, too,” another soldier hummed almost serenely. He did not approach them, but the proximity of his voice was grounds enough for Annabeth’s discomfort. “Never thought that sand eaters could be shy. Mules, the lot are. Savage, graceless _mules._ ”

The soldier at her side laughed again and his fingers dug into her skin. “I don’t know, Alon,” he said. “I’ve never met a shy mule before. Have you?” He tugged Annabeth closer to him before continuing, his hand stretching down towards the high slit in her skirt. “Maybe it’s all a ruse.”

 _Impudent barbarian,_ Annabeth forced herself not to grin at the irony. _You have no idea._

“Theseon,” Lady Drew the Baroness’s cold voice was a relief that could never have been precedented. She spoke from the other side of the servant’s hallway, and although Annabeth couldn’t see her, her mind painted the sure image of the woman’s black eyes and astringent smile.

“Yes, m’lady?” The soldier pulled away from Annabeth, the stench of his breath no longer clogging her nostrils. He shoved her towards the rest of the prisoners, the last of which were being hauled back towards the holding chamber. Annabeth stumbled, catching herself as best as she was able, and bunched her lengthy skirt within her hands. The soles of her feet were set aflame with pain, and she knew that the blisters had been agitated, but still, she caught up to the conquests as quickly as she could.

“Bring me Jorah,” Lady Drew’s voice soon faded into the background as Annabeth hurried away.

 _Don’t draw attention to yourself_ , she muttered within her mind, slowing her pace. A small part of her ached to bathe again, to scrub from her body the touch of Theseon’s vile fingers.

“Bend not, break not,” Annabeth whispered to herself as she disappeared among the throngs of conquests. The words were quiet, so quiet that even she hardly heard them. The syllables vanished the moment they soared from her tongue, but their significance was etched deeply into her heart.

Minervas do not break _._

**Ω**

_“Again!” Annabeth’s lips pulled into a wild grin as she steadied herself in the crunchy snow. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession and her lungs ached, stinging in the cold bite of the afternoon air, but she did not care. Her small fingers—only five cycles old—reached for the warm leather and furs as she attempted to grasp on for another spin._

_Her uncle, Prince Randolph Karstagne II, the Ice Wolf, shook his head with a gentle laugh as he caught his breath. Uncle Randolph was a carbon copy of his older brother, King Frederick III, with the same tall, broad stature and limbs defined by brawn. The only difference between the two was the eyes. Where the King saw the world through irises of silver, Randolph saw the world with eyes the dark grey color of the mountains that surrounded and shielded their kingdom._

_“Please!” Annabeth launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around her uncle’s waist as she aimed to meet his eyes. She couldn’t get her arms all the way around, for Uncle was a large man, but she managed to hold on nicely. “Please, please, please! I promise this will be the last! Just one more!”_

_“You said that three spins ago, Little Silver,” he wheezed, keeling over her to press his hands to his knees. His rumbling Northern brogue rolled from his tongue and sent vibrations humming in her cloaked arms. Prince Randolph was warmth incarnate. “I am not a young wolf anymore,” he continued. “You tire me so!”_

_“Mother tells me that endurance must be built,” Annabeth parroted the Queen’s words in a way she knew would draw his attention. “If you’re tired already, Uncle, that means your endurance has to be more!”_

_Never let it be said that her grammar at five was perfect._

_“Oi!” A pitchy squeal drew the Arch Princess of Eplonia away from the object of her attention, and she turned to see her brothers sparring. Or rather, what was left of it. She laughed behind her hand at the sight of Malcolm sprawled on his back, half his body hidden in the snow, as Luke pointed the end of his wooden sword at his neck._

_“Yield!” The Crown Prince cried joyously. His cheeks were flushed pink and his chest heaved, and laughter danced across his lips and over his eyelashes._

_A muffled, “Never!” rose from the dunes of white. It was soon followed by a thick bullet of snow that crumbled against Luke’s chest, soaking into the thick of his garments with a vengeance. Arch Prince Malcolm sprung from the soft ice, his hair bright as a flame against the backdrop of white, and began attacking with reckless abandon. “I will never yield!”_

_Smiling to herself and satisfied, Annabeth once again turned back to the Ice Wolf, who had since caught his breath. “Uncle…” she began to plead again._

_Randolph shook his head, his blond curls cresting over his brow, and his expression became only a bit serious. “Your mother would have my head, Little Silver. I love you, aye, I do,” he reached down to ruffle her silver-gold hair, “But I value my life just a wee bit more.”_

_“How wise of you,” a regal voice floated from above, the words spoken in the Northern Tongue._

_Annabeth, recognizing it, looked up to see her mother standing on the balcony that overlooked the yard. In her arms she cradled Uncle Randolph’s daughter born almost six moons prior, baby Princess Aubrey. Uncle Randolph had another child, Princess Emma, who was closer to Malcolm's age, but she had stayed behind with her own mother, Lady Caroline of House Greywind, at their ancestral seat in Timberswey. By her Queen mother’s side stood her aunt, Princess Natalie, younger sister to Randolph and Frederick, and her son, Prince Magnus, who was nearly four cycles old but still always had his thumb in his mouth. Surrounding the party was the Wolfsguard, knights handpicked by Annabeth’s King father and Queen mother to protect those with Karstagne blood within the Torch and all locations on a map._

_Baby Aubrey, Aunt Natalie, and cousin Magnus all shared the curling Karstagne hair that gleamed buttery blonde, but while the other two had grey eyes, Aunt Natalie peered through chips of emeralds that she'd inherited from a distant ancestor of Castradian blood, similar to Luke's blue eyes from Grandfather._

_Malcolm had gotten their mother’s coloring, the red-golden hair that characterized the Minervas of Athyns. Queen Athena’s tresses were long and wavy, reminding Annabeth of the red flames that licked at the wood in the hearth. Everyone said that the Queen was kissed by the First Muse herself—Mother Totlena, goddess of Hearth and Fire—just as Annabeth was kissed by the Ninth, Mother Khione of Winter. Her dress, a fancy silken gown a shimmering grey-blue, complimented her well and Annabeth thought she was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, even when Princess Natalie Karstagne, the Gold Wolf, stood by her side._

_“Ah, the Flame Owl blesses the wolves with her presence,” Uncle Randolph jested. He lowered himself in a deep bow, and Annabeth laughed alongside her mother and aunt when he surfaced._

_Aunt Natalie’s glittering green eyes shined, and she shook her head. “Your jokes, somehow, never grow tired, Randy. Such a skill to have, no matter how impractical.”_

_Mother couldn’t hide her smile, instead opting to drop her gaze to the baby that was bundled in her arms._

_“Maggie!” Annabeth called to her cousin, approaching the balcony, and waved her arms wildly to get his attention. Magnus removed his thumb from his mouth and grinned, prepared to rush forward, but a Wolfsguard stopped him with a hand descending onto his shoulder._

_“We mustn’t run, Magnus,” Aunt Natalie told him softly. “Wolves do not run unless they are in the wild, free and weightless, without anything to bring them danger… things like the edge of a balcony.” The young boy seemed sheepish, but he heeded her words._

_“Little Silver,” her mother called down to her. Love was etched onto her face, and it bled into her words like snow melting and soaking into warm cloaks. “Come inside, my dear, it’s almost time for your lessons.”_

_“Can Uncle spin me one last time?” The princess begged, turning around to regard the Ice Wolf once more. Silver met dark grey and she wrapped her arms around his waist again, craning her neck to look at him. “Please? It’s so much fun!”_

_“Me too!” Magnus chimed from the balcony. He didn’t speak much, often choosing to observe silently with his thumb in his mouth and his eyes trained on imaginary friends, but whenever he did, it was for things he deemed crucial. Magnus was a Karstagne, through and through._

_Natalie laughed loudly at the sight of the children pleading, a sound that mixed nicely with the symphony of clanging swords and shields behind them and brought Annabeth’s smile to stretch wide, and the Queen’s sigh was nearly audible._

_“She’s half-Minerva, Randolph,” Athena said calmly. “She will not bend, especially not when she hasn’t gotten what she wants.”_

_“As she should!” Aunt Natalie crooned. “My little fighter, she is.”_

_Annabeth preened beneath the praise, her curls fluttering in the wind as she peered up at the Ice Wolf through her lashes. “Please…” she pleaded, drawing out the word and placing as much emphasis upon it as she could._

_There was a long pause before Uncle Randolph caved. “The things I do for love,” he groaned with mock exasperation. He bent over to lift Annabeth out of the snow, his hands clutching her beneath the arms. As he began to spin and twirl in the middle of the yard, he spoke again. “Keep your food in your stomach, Little Silver, or I may just have to throw you over the walls of the Torch.”_

_Annabeth Karstagne, Little Silver, daughter and sister and niece and cousin, could only laugh with glee in response._

**Ω**

_The mountains remember._

Annabeth’s eyes flew open, her heart aching in her chest, and she rolled over onto her side. The holding chamber was dark, Triton’s Hold was quiet, but her mind was loud, screaming into the humid night. Around her, prisoners snored and twitched in their slumber, oblivious to the beating heart that bled with grief in the corner of the room. Tears slipped from the clefts of her lashes, and for the first time since she had been taken captive, she allowed herself to mourn freely.

Memories she believed to be long lost came flooding back, each filled with a different face of her beloved family. She dared not think of their demises, knowing that cousin Magnus and cousin Emma and Uncle Randolph and Aunt Natalie and baby Aubrey were no more, knowing that they had suffered at the hands of the Traitor for no crime other than having the blood of the mountain wolf in their veins.

 _Little Silver_ , her mind screamed at her. _Little Silver, alone in the world._

 _No,_ she told herself with vehemence. _My name is Annabeth Althena Karstagne. I’m the Crown Princess of Eplonia, the youngest child of my House. I must take back my kingdom from the Traitor. I am the rightful ruler. The mountains remember, the mountains-_

And then her thoughts halted and Annabeth Karstagne, prisoner of war, daughter and sister and niece and cousin to corpses and ghosts, choked back a wretched sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for missing last week’s update :( things haven’t been going the greatest for me and i’m currently taking a massive break from social media and updating completely slipped my mind. i’ve written up to chapter 8, so it wasn't a matter of actually writing rather than updating.
> 
> but we’re back on schedule!
> 
> if you haven't noticed already, the karstagnes are modeled after the starks (surprise, surprise!!) AND (in some ways) the targaryens (read: sans incest). i hope you all enjoyed reading the bit about annabeth's family as much as i enjoyed writing it! have i ever mentioned i love worldbuilding? cuz i love worldbuilding.
> 
> next chapter, the prisoners are told news that changes *everything* and a certain mountain wolf comes face to face with a certain darksnake :) see you next saturday!


	6. i love how

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1000+ Hits? THANK YOU so much <3
> 
> note: this chapter contains recognizable phrases from Game of Thrones (tv show). i don’t claim credit for it in any way, shape or form :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. All rights to GRRM, RR, and everyshadedsilver for inspiring this work.
> 
> enjoy!! <3

**VI**

**“i love how”**

**A N N A B E T H**

**SHE** laid awake for hours thereafter, unable to shake the images of a family she loved dearly blissful and happy once upon a time. But Annabeth managed to slip into the clutches of slumber once more, and when she awoke a few hours later, her desire to mourn properly was adequately quelled by her need to be a faceless conquest in the leviathan’s pit.

The following day began without fanfare, but rather with the increasingly familiar Baroness’s entrance. Again, the doors were thrown open without warning, and the prisoners curled around themselves in fear and anxiety. The pattern was beginning to rear its ugly head, and Annabeth had an inkling that Lady Drew chose not to have her presence announced, as was befitting a lady (by Northern standards at least), for the sole reason being the alarm her sudden entrances always drew. Like a black hole that astronomers theorized over, her entire existence seemed to be centered on feeding off the fears of others, dragging in all positives and crushing them to dust.

It made Annabeth wonder why she was that way.

The prisoners were given half-loaves of bread and cups of water for breakfast, a far cry from the dining room and pewter plates and boiled seaweed of the day before, but Annabeth found that she could not complain. Not really. Chained and nestled between Valeria and Piper, she nibbled on the hard bread to make it last as long as possible. The water was tinged green, freckled with algae.

No one drank.

She ignored the way Hazel’s eyes always crawled to her before darting away, peering and staring and reaching into her soul, pulling out all her secrets by the thread.

After breakfast, while Valeria and Piper dove into a conversation regarding Southron topics that Annabeth couldn’t even feign to understand despite the fact that she’d hidden in the south for years before coming to Triton’s Hold, the escaped princess nudged Hazel and dropped her voice to a hush. She whispered, “What’s the problem with you?” and whispered nothing more. Annabeth kept her attention focused on her chains.

Through her peripherals, she saw the younger girl give her a startled, unsettled glance, her golden eyes burning into the side of her face. Annabeth wasn’t surprised at the reaction; she couldn’t be. After all, it was only the day prior that she had outwardly admitted that she didn’t consider her companions as her friends. However, there was something in the looks that Hazel had been tossing in her direction that urged her to uncover the reasons behind them.

The girl was silent for a moment. She looked away, subtly stared at the soldiers that lined the walls, and exhaled softly. The weight of the breath was calculated; Annabeth could tell. Hazel was suppressing a sigh, but her shoulders still drooped some and her fingertips had fallen to perch upon the shackles that dressed her ankle.

“If you don’t wish to tell me, you don’t have to,” Annabeth whispered again. “I was just curious.”

“No, no, Asteria, it’s alright,” Hazel murmured back. She turned to look at her again, this time her stare biting into the side of Annabeth’s face that would’ve made her squirm had she not been raised around the members of House Greywind and Blacksoar, gryphons and eagles. “You just--” she paused, leaning forward to meet Annabeth’s gaze. “It’s your eyes.”

The rhythm of Annabeth’s heartbeat stuttered. “What--” she coughed to cover up her influx of apprehension. “What do you mean?” The princess of Eplonia turned to regard the dark-skinned girl, unable to feign disinterest any longer. “What about my eyes?”

Hazel stared at her, longer than what was comfortable for Annabeth to endure. The ichor of her pupils glowed like the rusting dawn, on the cusp of daybreak without any streaks of blue or red or pink—only oranges and golds. “They just…” she trailed off. Her coiled black hair glistened with natural oil, gleaming beneath the sunrays that filtered in through the narrow windows of Prisoner’s Hall. “You remind me of someone I once knew.” Her tone grew somber and she looked away once more.

“Who?” Annabeth found herself breathing the question before she could stop herself. Her mind raced alongside her pulse, both of which doing so to the tune of fear; fear tinged with suspicion and distrust. There were few who recognized Eplonian eyes, _Northern_ eyes. It was why Luke had chosen to flee to Algren rather than the Gale or the Valley. The desertfolk of Algren were notorious for their strange collection of varying features, and her silver irises had blended in seamlessly. But silver eyes were still rare south of the Eplon Mt. Range. So rare that Annabeth hadn’t seen any others during her period of wandering.

She knew she was being paranoid, but what were the chances that Hazel was speaking of an Algreni rather than a mountainer? And how long would it be until Annabeth’s hair dye faded and she would no longer be able to hide her telltale locks?

 _Calm down,_ she told herself. _Nothing has been set in stone._ Schooling her expression and inhaling deeply, Annabeth waited for her acquaintance to respond.

Hazel didn’t look at her this time. “It doesn’t matter,” she said lowly. She flicked her knuckles against the edge of her water cup. She trailed her fingers along the compressed oval of its rim. “She’s gone now. Long gone.”

Annabeth wanted to question her more, wanted to get to the bottom of it. But she didn’t dare. She couldn’t risk getting too close, couldn’t risk appearing to be more interested in matters that didn’t concern herself. She was Asteria, an orphaned daughter to two humble parents who worked in Burilese servantry. She was faceless, she was a prisoner, and nothing more.

As if in direct opposition to her thoughts, a voice scandalized by a wounded throat and left to be raspy in air called attention to Annabeth. “What are you two talking about?” It asked. No, it demanded. It made a lot of demands, it seemed.

Annabeth lifted her chin at the question, recognizing the tone of voice as Piper’s. Their gazes met, held, and she found herself staring at the bruise that forced the Algreni girl’s eye shut. Piper’s lids had glossed over sometime in the night, her skin darkening to a shade of purple so deep it resembled the fat grapes that grew along the thick vines of Vynneyard. Annabeth’s pulse quickened, her blood roaring in her veins and her temples. She thought back to the countless times she had sported wounds so similar to Piper’s, the days on end she had spent hidden in the corners of hot, dusty alleys because both of her eyes had been punched shut.

_Torn skin caked beneath her fingernails. Blood, so much blood that did not belong to her, crusted over her knuckles and draped across her wrists like forsaken bracelets. Necklaces of sweat and anguish. Fighting, fighting, fighting for her life-_

-Hazel response in her stead forced her out of her thoughts. “Nothing important,” she shrugged with practiced nonchalance.

Annabeth cut her a sideways glance, recognizing the untruth for what it was but not having the means or the right to address it. There was more to Hazel than she was clearly letting on. Annabeth made a mental note to keep an eye on her, if not for her own peace of mind and assurance that her secret was far from being discovered.

The small group of prisoners talked aimlessly for the next quarter hour, but Annabeth could not focus on the objects of attention at hand. In the back of Annabeth’s mind, she heard the echoes of Jorah’s voice as he tugged her through the halls. She felt the screams of her bruises as her feet were dragged harshly across the stones, the wind sifting through her hair when he had pulled her into the darkened room and ordered for her to duck.

She was so consumed in her thoughts, had submerged herself so deeply into wonderings of recent events, that she did not notice when the Baroness re-entered Prisoner’s Hall. Annabeth did not notice the prognostic sound of sandals striking against stone as the soldiers shot to attention, stoic and portent as the rumors whispered. She did not notice when prisoners huddled amongst themselves in familiar clumps, ineffectively shielding themselves from the cruelty of Triesstine authority. It was only when Valeria reached over and gently pressed her head down until her chin touched her sternum that Annabeth realized that she had been caught unawares.

Her tongue sank into her lip and she steeled herself, feeling her spine harden to metal and her bones to ice. _Always be aware of your surroundings,_ she had been taught in the fighting shacks. _Always be aware, and you can never be in danger. Not truly, anyway._ Straining her ears to listen for the bitter woman’s voice, Annabeth swallowed down a scoff. _Where were those teachings now?_

“Remove their shackles.” The Baroness spoke tersely into the silence.

All parties froze.

Annabeth eyes widened but she didn’t dare look up. Through her peripherals, she saw Piper tense up, shoulders aligning and limbs locking tightly, and Hazel reached over to comfort her. The younger girl whispered something that Annabeth’s ears couldn’t grasp, but it appeared to have a miniscule effect on Piper.

There was a long stretch of reticence, threaded by the strains of tensity and apprehension, before the Baroness continued, voice chilled and sharp. “Do not make me repeat myself, Dathan,” Lady Drew the Baroness said. “Remove their shackles. All of them.”

The guards that provided a second boundary along the walls began to close in, encircling them all like starved vultures finding purchase in a meal left behind by chased-off predators. Annabeth forced her eyes shut when she felt calloused fingers trailing over her body, dragging across the planes of her arms and legs before dropping to the metal circlet that tethered her and nearly branded her as leviathan property.

The intonation of iron shackles and rusted chain lengths falling to the stones was music to her ears, a sweet melody that lifted the weight in her chest. Annabeth lowered her gaze to the bruises on her ankles, to the bruises that fermented in the soles of her feet. How long had she been chained? A month? She could not remember. The journey from the desert to the Further South had been a long one, and the days had blurred together like smudged ink on parchment. The Triesstine had been in no rush to transport their conquests. The pace had been slow. The hot sands of Algren had scorched her feet, and her meager sandals had long since fallen apart by the time they were shoved into prison carts like criminalized cattle.

Piper released an exhalation that was tainted with restiveness as the solider who was unchaining her began to fiddle with the ropes around her wrist. Although Annabeth could not see her face, she could guess that the girl was grimacing as the rough length dug into her skin again and again. The heir to House Karstagne swallowed thickly.

 _They found her first,_ she reminded herself. _They found her first and they would’ve killed you otherwise._

Once the prisoners had all been freed, Lady Drew spoke again. “Guard the doors at your own discretion,” she said offhandedly to a soldier. “If anyone runs, slay them where they stand.” Silence drowned the room, broken only by the sound of the Triesstine salute and the soldier leaving to obey the command.

Lady Drew addressed the prisoners. “The First Councilwoman believes that it is in the best interest of Triesso and the House of Neptune that we integrate all Algreni hostages into our servantry, as was done when the Archadians, Eurissians, and the Vynnish were added to the growing Triesstine Empire. The High Lord agreed with her proposal, and as such, you can no longer be chained, nor will you longer reside here in Prisoner’s Hall.”

There was a pause before she continued. “Starting today, you will be given your posts and your rooms. You sand eaters have but Aegeon’s Chosen to thank for this show of mercy. But make no mistake, if any slight is done against Triesso by your hand, you have my word in Aegeon’s honor and Idylla’s grace that retribution will be met at whatever cost is deemed fitting.

“You are to remain within the servant’s quarters unless your post leads you elsewhere. Any disagreements will be handled privately, and if any of you have the mind to disgrace these halls with physical violence—”

Annabeth’s stomach turned over and she glanced at Piper through the corner of her eye, already knowing what was to come next.

Lady Drew approached them, stopping in front of her target. Her hand came to rest on top of Piper’s head. “Let _this one_ be an example to you all. Was it not for Lady Vene’s kind nature, she would be imprisoned with a bleeding back. You have been warned, and I will not repeat myself again.”

There was a long silence as the Baroness finally moved away, and Piper exhaled heavily, her breath shaking. It was then that Annabeth wondered if her gumption was anything more than a farce.

“You have been chosen to serve the greatest nation in the realm—Aegeon’s Kingdom Come—and as such, it is not in your best interest to take it lightly,” Lady Drew pressed on as she returned to her usual station at the doors. Pride seeped into her words, every beating syllable that rhythmically fell from her lips positioned and propped up with the evident belief of Triesstine superiority.

Annabeth forced herself not to scowl. _Barbarians,_ she wanted to scream. _You are all nothing but civilized barbarians; hardly any better than the Thanysh of the Further North, forth-bringers of the Yza Tribesmen of the Iced South._

The Baroness was ignorant to the acerbity of Annabeth’s thoughts. “Lift your heads, servants of Neptune, and embrace this second chance at life,” she said. “What is dead may never die. You have been given a purpose. You will be assigned your posts, and you will fulfill them to your last breath, no matter the cost.”

**Ω**

They were separated by age, similar to how it was done on the first day, and shoved into lines. Once again severed from the rest of her friends, Hazel had whispered to them a small goodbye as she was tugged towards the far end of the room. The youngest group of conquests had been given assignments first, the majority of them sentenced to the kitchens while the eldest of them were selected to become handmaids to members of the noble court. Hazel was one of those chosen few, told that she was to serve a woman named Lady Rovea of Kyseltis until otherwise.

Valeria and Piper were taken away next. As Lady Drew stalked between the lanes, she addressed the roll of parchment in her hands, scanning over the available posts. Piper had been assigned Lady Vene, an action that Annabeth assumed was a form of small revenge. The Baroness appeared to be bitter at the show of mercy that the Algreni girl had received, and shoving her off to serve the woman responsible seemed fitting. Valeria was told she was to serve in the kitchens as well, washing dishes and scrubbing kettles.

Finally, Annabeth and the rest of the older girls were the only ones left in the holding chamber. They were mostly told that they were to be aids—servants who cleaned the chambers and kept tidy the rooms of specific members of noble court. Despite the fact that the Baroness had given them permission to lift their heads, already she had grown accustomed to the need to press her chin into her chest. Already the Triesstine were leaving their mark on her, hardly two days following her arrival.

 _Poison_ , she surmised, remembering her father’s words. _They work like poison._

The chilling sound of Lady Drew’s hum brought her back into the realm of focus. Annabeth stiffened when she caught notice of the black-haired woman coming to rest beside her. “I was wondering when I would finally catch sight of you,” she said. “Tell me, Cold One, how was your night?”

_Annabeth Karstagne, Little Silver, alone in the world. Daughter and sister and niece and cousin to corpses and ghosts._

She balanced her expression and her words as well as she could. “It was fine, milady,” Annabeth said softly. She twisted her syllables, adopting a lowborn desert accent, and hoped for the best.

The Baroness laughed, a saccharine sound that curled like venom around her senses. “You _are_ a well-tempered one, aren’t you?” The way that she spoke those words elicited goosebumps to rise along Annabeth’s skin. She said nothing, unable to bring herself to respond. Instead, she kept her eyes trained forward. Nevertheless, the noblewoman who stood beside her continued. “I believe, in the matters regarding the best interest of our nation, only the most well-tempered can handle the Heir Apparent.”

_No._

Annabeth's heart plunged to the depths of her gut and she stiffened, but still, she did not respond. Around her, she could feel the probing eyes of the other conquests. Curses swirled in her mind, anger rising within her, but she refused to allow it to become evident. _Thanysh purge your beliefs,_ she wanted to spit.

“You are to be the Young Leviathan’s aid,” Lady Drew said, scratching off the assignment title on the parchment and scribbling something down on it. “The aid to his chambers. You will be responsible for cleaning up the messes he leaves in the wake of his fits of temper. You will see to it that his chambers are spotless at all times. Any assistance he requires of you is to be completed at the time of request. Is that understood?” Her dark eyes lifted to scorch the side of Annabeth’s face.

 _No,_ Annabeth wanted to scream. _No, don’t do this to me._ But she nodded without a second thought anyway, her senses numbed and chilled and detached. “Yes, milady. I understand.”

The Baroness clicked her tongue and drew away, her deep blue robes billowing in her wake as she left an impassioned Eplonian behind her. Annabeth could feel the weight of pity that pressed against her skin, that fueled the fire in her chest. She grit her teeth, clenched her jaw, said nothing. But fear, fear and anger and apprehension and _fear_ , churned in her gut. She was supposed to keep her head down, was supposed to linger in the shadows and be faceless in the sea of desertfolk. How was she to do that now? When she was to come face to face with the bane of her closely guarded confidence on the daily? The Heir Apparent—the _Darksnake_ —was who she had wordlessly agreed with herself to stay away from.

Annabeth clenched her fists and shut her eyes. Now, more than ever, it was imperative that her secret would never be revealed. She could trust no one. She _would_ trust no one. Not here, in the leviathan’s pit, where sea snakes lingered in the dark corners and oppressive heat tore at her back. She was a mountain wolf, a wolf hidden in the Further South. She was not made for this environment, but she would have to endure. The Seat of Stone in the Torch—the throne of Eplonia—was currently being defiled by the Traitor, by the leader of the Orszag, by the monster responsible for the slaughter of her family. There would be a reckoning, brought by her hand and her hand alone.

 _Yes,_ her mind chanted with newfound assurance. _A reckoning is coming._

She simply had to stay alive long enough to make sure of it.

After all the conquests had been given their assignments, the Baroness led them through the halls of the palace. “You must be given a tour of Triton’s Hold,” she said without so much as an inch of emotion. Bitterness was implied in her words, hinting that it wasn’t her choice to pursue such an endeavor. “We cannot have you desertfolk wandering around aimlessly, sullying the halls with your presence. Be mindful of the directions I speak of today,” she promised. “I will not repeat them.”

Annabeth heeded the woman’s words and was mindful of the directions she spoke of. She had no interest in drawing further attention to herself, not after the woman had deigned her a nickname and the Heir Apparent himself would come to acquaint himself with her face soon enough. One high-ruling official who recognized her was more than enough, two was a curse; three would be a death sentence.

Lady Drew led them down to the servant’s quarters. She said that there were 40 rooms left available and nothing more, implying that they were to divide themselves on their own time—although mostly everyone knew the soldiers would gladly aid in separating them. _The barbarians._

They were then shown the kitchens, servant’s dining, and the bathhouses. On their way past, Annabeth made sure the count the turns that they took, made sure to take note of the directions. A right, then a left, and two more rights, followed by a last left to get to the servant’s dining. The kitchens were at the end of that same hallway. The bathhouses were on the other side of the servant’s wing, in the opposite direction of the kitchens, and adjacent to the furthest sleeproom.

She first saw him on their way towards the servant’s exits to the palace gardens. It was a quick glance, truly, a fleeting one that wasn’t thrown with any significance. Annabeth caught a glimpse of broad shoulders and a flash of long, black hair, and assumed it was the son of a nobleman or military officer escorting another lady. In all manners of honesty, she didn’t _care._ No, she was more concerned with the directions that the Baroness was spouting off left and right.

It wasn’t until she heard the hiss from behind her—“ _Is that him?_ ”—that she dared sneak a second look.

Lady Drew turned left, forcing them to dwell in the same hallway as the man. Annabeth swallowed thickly, letting the rising whispers that clouded the air around her to affect her focus. She paid no mind to the Baroness’s words, instead choosing to peer through her lashes at the pair making their way through the corridor. And then she caught sight of the furs and cloaks, of the splintered spears with jagged, crooked blades, and she _knew._

Her blood chilled, and Annabeth couldn’t draw her gaze away. Her eyes widened; the rhythm of her heart quickened. The Darksnake himself, the man she was doomed to aid for the rest of her foreseeable future, was less than ten lengths away.

The glow of the abalone walls complimented his brown skin, casting flickering shadows across the planes and edges of his rigid frame. The Darksnake had shed his fur-lined navy cloak and his pair of swords. In its stead, he donned the typical skin-baring Triesstine garb, swathed in black fabric that folded over his shoulder—a silver clasp holding it in place—and flowed to mid-thigh, not unlike how the soldiers wore it. His hair had been pulled away into a neat bun and the lower half of his face was still covered in Tribesmen fashion, all of which drew attention to the bright greens of his eyes.

On his arm was a beautiful woman, with gleaming black hair that fell to her hips, loose and free and unbraided in style. Her voice was melodic and familiar as she spoke to him, her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. Every so often the Darksnake would aim a glance at her, and that seemed to embolden her to continue. They were flanked by a quartet of warriors from the Southern Tribes of Yza, all of whom still wore their cloaks and furs and carried their weapons with pride. With the chilling presence that they offered, their clothing was more than appropriate, it seemed.

Annabeth cast her eyes away then, tucking her chin into her chest when they passed. All the servants were silent. A shiver rolled down her spine when he drew near, and she swore that the air around him had dropped in temperature. Her heart leapt, reminding her of the cold, biting winds of the Mount and she swallowed.

 _He is your enemy,_ she told herself again and again even when he was long gone, the woman and warriors in tow. _He is your enemy; never forget it. Karstagnes and Neptunes do not mix._

**Ω**

“I love how the sunlight just… _hits_ this spot so perfectly!” Valeria squealed as she stretched out on her sleeping mat, her arms craned over her head and her back arched.

Annabeth stared at her for a moment, wondering how she had weaseled her way into their group so quickly, but said nothing. Piper was curled by Valeria’s side, her head laid across the black-haired servant’s stomach as her feet tucked themselves in Hazel’s lap. Hazel leaned against the wall, her expression dazed as she was clearly lost in thought.

She herself found that she had succumbed to her own thoughts, still reeling from the events of the past several days—how quickly her surroundings had changed. In a peculiar show of good nature, Lady Drew had sent them off to the servant’s rooms after the tour, explaining they had the entire day to rest. She had claimed that they would need to put their best efforts into their work the following day, but Annabeth wasn’t so sure.

She had found Hazel waiting outside a room nearer to the kitchens. The young Algreni was guarding the door, keeping servants from entering. “This room is taken,” Annabeth heard her explaining softly. “I’m sorry.”

Her words had earned her more than enough curses and biting jabs, but they all stalked off to lay claim to their own rooms anyway. Annabeth had then approached her, and for a reason unknown, decided to make a play at humor.

“Are you going to send me away too?” The words brushed passed her lips, and the tone of her voice reminded her of the days when Aunt Natalie would tease her and Magnus on end. A lump then entered her throat, but she ignored it as best as she could.

Hazel had looked up at her, eyes wide and startled, before relief flooded into her expression. “Oh!” She grinned then, reaching for her hand. “Asteria! It’s so good to see you.”

Annabeth had given her a tiny smile and stood guard at the door alongside her. “Did you take a tour as well?”

She nodded, scanning the hallway assumedly for Piper and Valeria. “Yes, the soldier gave us directions to the kitchens, the washrooms, and then told us to come back here. I’ve been waiting ever since, but I didn’t know if you or Valeria and Piper would even come back.” Hazel’s fingers squeezed around Annabeth’s palm before dropping away.

It wasn’t long until the two girls stumbled into view, arms linked as Valeria gently tugged Piper along. Hazel soon caught sight of them and waved slightly, gaining their attention. The four of them pushed into the room, chose their sleeping mats, and had curled up together ever since.

That was hours ago.

Annabeth turned to glance at the setting sun, feeling the urge to sleep settling in her bones, and laid down. Her thoughts travelled to her days in the fighting shacks, to her time spent on the mainland of Castrad—where she and Luke had first sought refuge—to their midnight sail across the Mountain’s Kiss after their location was discovered. The tiny canoe wasn’t supposed to have made it across those turbulent ice waters, but by the blessings of the Nine Mothers, it did anyway. She thought of her time in Algren, of the plans to travel to Vynneyard with Luke that never came to fruition.

She thought and she thought until the bleeding sky revealed the stars. They were ensconced in ribbons of murky blue, in streaks of grey. Annabeth stared at them, imagining that each one was a face of a family member, and she closed her eyes. The escaped princess felt the liquid grief slip from her lashes, slide past her nose, and in the best way she knew to relieve herself from the ache in her chest, she went to sleep.

**Ω**

Her heart thumped in her ears, the oscillations of the beats thrumming her pulse and heating her blood. Every nerve was set aflame with apprehension, and Annabeth could feel it pouring through her veins. Her lungs carried weight in her chest, as if they had clogged and turned to solid rock. The servant’s entrance was dark and damp, a low-ceilinged chute that sprouted off from the corridors paved in abalone and ironstone. The sun had yet to rise, the sight of the predawn sky doing nothing to soothe her disconcertment. Her fist was raised, poised, but the ground swayed beneath her.

There was a shuffling noise from the other side of the door and her breath caught in her throat. A fleeting thought scattered across the forefront of her mind, and Annabeth wondered what penalty and punishment she would receive for failing to aid the Heir Apparent as she was told. Moisture coalesced on the heated surface of her palms and she swallowed thickly. Murmuring quiet prayers to the Third and Fifth Muses—Mother Idara of Hope and Mother Erdione of Mercy—Annabeth steeled herself as an owl of Athyns would, as a mountain wolf of the Torch would.

She raised her fist, pressed the meat of the side of her palm and littlest finger against the stone, and pounded out a triple-beat rhythm. Annabeth stepped away then, cradling her chin against her sternum, and hefted the basket she carried further up against her hip. It was made of dried reeds and insisted upon prickling the exposed skin that curved over her waistline and the bones of her hip.

Right when she began to wonder if she should dare knock again, the sound of stone dragging against stone halted her from moving any further. Annabeth stilled, and the door slowly swung open. She saw a dark, vaguely masculine form loom into view.

There was a long silence.

Annabeth didn’t move a muscle. She waited for permission to enter, wanted to slide into the shadows, wanted to keep his gaze away from her. A cold wind brushed against her skin, an action that forced her to withhold her shiver from rolling through her body no matter the chill that crept up her spine.

Finally, the Darksnake spoke. “Don’t knock again.” His voice was gruff, words slurred with fatigue. His Triesstine accent was evident—a thick Southron cadence that reminded her of swords clashing and cries of war. “You don’t have to,” he continued after a slight pause. Then, without another word, the prince moved away from the servant’s entry and vanished into his chambers.

Annabeth lifted her head to watch him walk away. She caught but a glimpse of a scarred back, muscles flexing beneath the brown skin, and a dense mass of wavy black hair that appeared to be more mussed from stress rather than sleep. Pausing, she hefted the reed basket higher against her hip and took a tentative step forward. The scent of saltwater and iron stung her nostrils as she journeyed further into the Darksnake’s chambers. Heart pounding in her chest, veins throbbing with the inherent urge to _run_ , she couldn’t help but wonder that with every step she took, she drew nearer to the end of her life.

“Mother Totlena,” she whispered to herself. “Guard my body. Mother Tharlene, guide my feet. Mother Zuhena, guide my hand. And Mother Khione,” Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, the murmurs flowing through her lips until they became truth. _“Guide me strong."_ But a small, rebellious part of her knew that it was too late. Annabeth had been waltzed into the heart of the den of her enemies.

Her time was already running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: thanysh is pronounced like danish but with a “th”
> 
> i start college on monday (!!?!), so my updates might be a little slower in these upcoming weeks. i’ll try my best to keep updating on saturdays, but don’t be surprised if it takes me a week and a half to update (after ch 8). school is my priority right now, hopefully you guys will understand?
> 
> you don’t have to worry for the next two weeks, as i have those chapters written up already, but after that updates might very well be slower. 
> 
> ANYWAYS, next chapter: annabeth settles into her routine as percy's aid, an argument erupts between two of our group of conquests, and a high-profile woman meets our favorite princess. ty for reading!


	7. free you are,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be honest, seeing the number of kudos, hits, bookmarks, and subscriptions rise gives me a ton of serotonin. 1241 hits already? Thank you so much!! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. All rights to GRRM, RR, and everyshadedsilver for inspiring this work.
> 
> enjoy!! <3

**VII**

**“free you are,”**

**A N N A B E T H**

**ONE** hour into cleaning forced Annabeth to draw the conclusion that the prince was the messiest man she’d ever known. Granted, she hadn’t known many men in her days of joy in the Mounts, nor did she tend to stay in their company for long during her time of wandering. But, after scrubbing the next mysterious stain from the stone flooring (she’d lost count sometime after eleven), she felt that her judgment was justified.

The skin of her palms and fingers was flushed with blood and agitation, blisters and callouses threatening to form across the heated expanses. Annabeth gripped the coarse brush, the horsehair soaked to the base in a cleaning agent that stung the interior of her nostrils with its scent. Sunlight spilled through the clear glass of the windows, the arching sky that formed a dome above Triesso bordering on crystalline shades of teal and pale grey. There was a cold rush of air that snaked through the cracks, and the servant shivered.

Still, with her mind’s ears, she could hear the Darksnake’s cold words when he addressed her only thirty and two minutes prior. “Stay out of my way,” he had said in such an informal manner that it had caught her off guard. “When I’m in my private study, do not disturb me.” His voice reminded her of the icy waters of the Mountain’s Kiss. When he spoke, it was as though she was being dragged into the chilled currents of the Castradian waters and tugged straight to the murky floors of the Northern Deep. Her chest had heaved—her lungs weighted with shattered breaths—and her senses screaming at her to _run_. She despised herself for her cowardice.

 _Coward,_ her mind hissed. _You’re nothing but a fraud and a coward._

Even now, as she scrubbed with vengeful intent at the dark blotches littering the floors of the Darksnake’s training room, her skin cooled over and sprouted clammy. Annabeth ignored the deep red tinge that the blemishes carried, trying her best to get them out of the ironstone but to no avail. The cleaning agent only made them darker, made the image of them even more disconcerting in appearance. A rabid thought crossed her mind, and she vaguely wondered how many of the Triesstine had perished in this very room.

The notion, as sordid as it was, couldn’t be entirely unfounded. Scattered around the Darksnake’s training chambers laid steel weaponry and iron shields, racks upon racks of them that called to her memory like mystical Islic sirens to foolish sailors. The gleaming metallic composition of the blades, of the curved edges, snagged her attention more than once.

Annabeth paused in her scrubbing. Her knees ached, blood circulation pausing as they pressed into the floors with enough weight to bruise. She was leaned over on all fours, a position that would make Mother curl her lip upwards in distaste at the impropriety should she ever see it.

 _But,_ she reminded herself bitterly, _Mother’s gone and impropriety is the least of my worries now._

She sat back on her haunches, rolling her shoulders as pain lanced through her bones and curdled between the tendons of her muscles. Annabeth sighed heavily, drying her hands on the indigo fabric of her slitted skirt. Her eyes wandered, as did her thoughts, and a bubble of gratefulness welled her in chest cavity at the realization that work of this caliber had been carried out by her own family’s servants in Eplonia. She had been but a child—a young, frightened girl of thirteen, barely cusping on the shores of womanhood—when she and Luke had made their brisk escape. Her parents had always taught her and her siblings to be thankful for the servants who devoted their lives to House Karstagne, but Annabeth had rarely thought about everything that the appreciation entailed.

“Privilege,” she whispered to herself, gaze trailing back to the stains that spottled the floors. “It was privilege and nothing more, you stupid girl.”

She lifted her palms, pressed the flushed skin of her hands’ backs to the upper curve of her thighs, and stared intently at the irritation. Her thoughts surged and swelled with notions of wonderings past, and shame settled alongside the exhaustion that filmed her limbs. Annabeth mildly cursed her younger self, chastised that clear-eyed girl who knew nothing but comfort and love and _privilege._

How many hours had servants spent cleaning up the messes that she had made alongside her brothers and cousins? How many sore backs? How many reddened palms and bruised knees and stiff necks? And all for what? For them to be slain and cut down like weeds for the sole crimes of being loyal to the mountain wolves and owls that dwelled within the Torch? For their liege lords to be slaughtered one by one in their beds, to be ambushed on roads of travel, to be poisoned by doctors that had turned on their sworn oaths of fealty?

Annabeth swallowed thickly and heaved forward, re-grabbing the brush. The circular motions of her hands, intense and pointed, drove her arms to soreness but she could not bring herself to care. Feeling the sweat trickle down her neck and back, the humidity that gathered in the air and pressed against her skin, she resolved to distract herself in the best way she knew how. As had become her method of coping during the time she spent in the fighting shacks, Annabeth secluded herself in the images that her mind procured, desperate to relive the unadulterated joy that her childhood had brought her.

**Ω**

_The fire roared within its stone cage, the flames charring the stone until it was black as night. The heated blaze lapped at the heaps of wood that had been shoved into the hearth, and her eyes trained on the glowing embers with enamored rapture._

_A kind, familiar voice broke through her attentions. “Annabeth,” it asked in its familiar Northern brogue. “Are you alright?”_

_She looked away from the fireplace, cheeks heating as she turned to address the question. Her father, King Frederick III, gazed at her with unabated intrigue, his silver eyes glittering in the dim candlelight. He was as wide as he was tall, with shoulders almost as broad as the width of her doorway. When he stood, his head nearly reached halfway to the vaulting ceilings. But he wasn’t wearing his royal robes, nor did his gilded argentate crown rest on his curling golden hair. In this moment, with nothing but affection and wisdom etched across his features, he was nothing more than just Father. He wasn’t the King, he wasn’t the liege lord of the Torch; he was only Father._

_Her fingers—chubby with youth, seven cycles and three moons old—clutched at the furs that were sprawled over her bed. Winter was nearing with each day, and each passing night seemed to grow colder and colder. But Mother and Father always told her that Eplonians would endure, that they always had, so she placed her faith in their words. Annabeth pulled the furs up to her chin and snuggled deeper beneath them, peering up at her father through her lashes._

_“I hope you’ll answer my question sometime_ before _winter comes, Little Silver.” Father chuckled to himself as he smoothed her hair back._

_The princess nodded. “I’m alright, Father.” She glanced back at the flames, at the glowing embers._

_Fire and stone. She was of fire and stone. It wasn’t a new concept—not necessarily—but it was something that had become a bit of a mantra since learning it on her seventh name day. The words rolled over her tongue soundlessly, glided across the forefront of her mind with ease until it was all she could think about._

_“Will you tell me a story?” Annabeth asked without pretense. She looked away from the fire and turned to stare at Father. Her eyes drifted to the small braids that had been made throughout his golden curls, knowing that her mother had been the cause. She liked seeing them. They reminded her of her brothers, of her Minerva cousins—all whom sported similar styles._

_Before Father could respond, there was a rapid knock at the door. Annabeth recognized it immediately and couldn’t decide between smiling and scowling. The newcomer didn’t wait for either her or Father’s admittance to entry before the wood was swiveled on its hinges and the cold air of the hallway rushed into the room._

_Malcolm and Luke, with a six cycle old Magnus Karstagne gripping onto both of their hands, pushed into Annabeth’s sleeping chambers. The eldest turned his blue eyes to Father, eyebrows lifting in a way that closely resembled the young portraits of their late grandfather, King Trevor I of House Celtigar. Luke looked so unapologetically Castradian sometimes with the blue of his irises, the crookedness of his smiles, and the upturned nature of his brows that Annabeth couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that he was more mountain wolf than ice fox. One glance would force a stranger to assume that he hailed from across the Mountain’s Kiss, that he lived off the coast of Slayer’s Bay and battled the Thanysh of the Further North day in and day out._

_“Father!” Malcolm grinned as he approached the bed. His red-golden hair had two braids on each side of his head, forming a pair of rows that travelled from his temples to the nape of his neck. The rest, all wavy and gleaming, was tied off completely in the back. Her brother’s grey eyes sparkled. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here. Have you decided to join the party too?”_

_Father merely lifted an eyebrow while Magnus gripped onto the furs and made his attempt to get into Annabeth’s bed. At this, she gave way to a scowl._

_“Absolutely not!” The princess cried out as she tried to shove him away. “You’re going to make my bed smell like you and you all smell like outside.”_

_Her cousin returned the scowl, pale grey eyes rolling before he decided to crawl into Father’s lap instead. Magnus still wasn’t one for many words. Father obliged, chuckling quietly as his sister’s son made himself at home atop his knees. He curled a large arm around his back, securing him with gentleness, before turning to address his own sons._

_“Do you two always make it a habit to invade your sister’s chambers? What if she had been sleeping?”_

_Luke shrugged with a nonchalance too blasé to be practiced. “Then I guess she wouldn’t be sleeping for much longer.”_

_Annabeth tossed a pillow at him, but the speed was much too slow. The Crown Prince dodged easily before releasing a mischievous laugh. She huffed before snuggling deeper beneath her furs. “You’re a brute.”_

_“It’s not like you need the sleep,” Luke replied. “All you do every day is read anyway. A little less sleep wouldn’t kill anyone.”_

_“Whatever.” Annabeth turned her attention back to her father, ignoring how Malcolm had taken the liberty to perch himself on the edge of her bed like the snow owl he was. “You were going to tell me a story, right Father?”_

_Luke dropped to the floor quickly, folding his legs beneath him as he squealed. “Oh, good we came at the perfect time. Didn’t we, Mal?” He nudged their brother’s dangling leg. “I love stories.”_

_Malcolm laughed while Magnus tugged on the end of one of the small braids in Father’s thick, blond beard. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but clear. “Hearthstone and Blitzen,” Magnus said simply, referring to the two famed Heroes of Old that he had grown an attachment to. They were all he talked about, all he cared about it seemed._

_“Wait, no!” Annabeth shot forward, shivering a bit as she left the warmth of her bedspread. “He talked about them last time, remember Maggie? Let’s hear something else for a change. Please?”_

_Magnus looked over his shoulder to stare at her. His expression didn’t give truth to any agreeableness, but he nodded after a while. Annabeth sent her closest cousin a smile at this._

_Father looked over them all. “Well, since the Heroes of Old are out of the picture, what would you like to hear about?”_

_Malcolm perked up at this. “Luke and I learned about Anglicus Karstagne in our studies today. He was the first King in the North, right? Tell us about him.”_

_There was a glimmer in Father’s eyes when he nodded in response. “Yes,” he said slowly, peering at his sons in an apparent new light. “Our ancestor, Anglicus Karstagne, was the founder of the Karstagne Dynasty. It was he that lit the fires of the Mount during the first nights of the first Bitter Winter and housed the mountainfolk within his halls of the Torch for ninety days.”_

_“That’s three moons,” Annabeth said quietly, eager to display the fruits of her own lessons. “Right?”_

_Father smiled at her. “Yes, Little Silver. Three moons. Three long moons with no sunlight to guide the way.” His expression sobered. “When Bitter Winter comes, the sun does not rise until spring returns. The night is dark, it’s long, and it’s cold. In winter, we must protect ourselves. Fire protects us, that’s why we have it. Fire guides us, fire leads us, fire saves us. Lord Anglicus—for he wasn’t King yet—knew that. Back then, the Torch was called the Wolfstead.”_

_“Wolf for Karstagne,” Malcolm murmured aloud. His eyes were trained on the flames, a dusky pink fluttered across the round of his cheeks._

_Father hummed in acknowledgment, reaching over to pat the shoulder of his second son, before he continued. “The Wolfstead was a large estate, built to house many comfortably. Anglicus saw his walls, saw how he had but his wife, his two sons, and his only daughter dwelling there, and he took action. Every three hours, he lit large pyres that lined the roads. Every day, he went searching for people to take in. They followed the fire, and once they were seated in the Wolfstead, he went to find more.”_

_“How didn’t he die?”_

_“We do not know,” Father answered, wonder leaking into his voice as he glanced down at Luke. “But Lord Anglicus risked his life. Before long, as the rumors say, he had the entire country of Eplonia within his walls. Those who could not help themselves found aid in the Karstagnes. In remembrance of the fires he lit, they named the halls the Torch instead. When spring came and the sun rose once more, they crowned him as their King. And the dynasty lives on.”_

_Annabeth stared at the flames in the corner, stared at the stones that comprised her bedroom walls. Of fire and stone, her House words were. She was born of winter, but she was the fire that scorched the night. She was the stone that comprised the vaulting halls of her home. Her eyes turned to that of her older brother’s, studying his cardinal golden spill of waves that was plaited taut against his scalp, noting how they reminded her so much of the flames that warmed her bedchambers. Malcolm was fire. Luke was fire. Mother and Father both were fire. They protected her, guided her, lead her, saved her. Her family was fire._

_“Fyrewolf.” Magnus’s quiet voice broke through Annabeth’s thoughts and she turned her attention back to him._

_Father glanced down at the boy in his lap, eyebrows drawing together in slight confusion. “How do you know about the Fyrewolf, Magnus?”_

_Her cousin shrugged, his fingers still twisting the aurulent hairs of Father’s beard—hairs that matched in color the ones that crested the crown of his own head. “Mother,” he responded simply. Then, with piercing grey eyes, he pointed to Annabeth. “Mother said the Fyrewolf had hair like Annabeth’s, pale.”_

_Father grimaced slightly, a nearly silent curse in the Northern tongue slipping through his lips. “Nat always was the true conspiracy theorist of the family.”_

_Her brothers ignored the slight, instead leaning closer to the princess of Eplonia. Luke scooted nearer to the edge of her bed, gangly arms and long fingers outstretched to snag a stray curl of hair within his grasp. “I thought Annabeth got her hair from Grandmother Viktoria?”_

_Father nodded before responding, his voice low and rumbling. “She did. But rumors say that my mother inherited her hair from the Fyrewolf—the youngest child and only daughter of King Anglicus. Her true name was Princess Adalayne, and they say that she possessed the Favor from the First.”_

_Annabeth sat up, excitement beginning to course through her. “What’s the Favor?” She pleaded for response, leaning forward, all too happy to ignore the way both Luke and Malcolm were tugging on her hair._

_Father smiled at her, albeit thin, and shook his head gently. “They are but stories, Little Silver. Tales meant for the hearth and nothing more. Ask Hestia about it, I’m sure she would love to tell you.”_

_Her enthusiasm dimmed and she couldn’t help but frown. “But you’re here now. Why won’t you tell us?” Annabeth glanced discreetly at her brothers and cousin, grateful to find that they were hanging on to her every word. Four pairs of eyes found purchase on the humble expression of the King of the Mount, and Father’s eyebrow lifted at the pointed attention._

_Gently placing Magnus on Malcolm’s lap, Father chuckled quietly to himself. “It isn’t anything to concern yourself with, Little Silver.” His grey eyes twinkled in the firelight as he stood. “I recognize that look on your face. You look like your mother.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before drawing away, splayed adoration evident across his features. “They’re but stories and nothing more. I do not want you to garner too much hope.”_

_She stared at her father through her lashes before raising her chin as resolutely as she could. Annabeth nodded, murmuring her acceptance. At that, Father sternly herded the other three boys from her bedchamber, stating that a princess needed her rest._

_As she laid alone in the dim glow, attention transfixed upon the flickering blaze ensconced in rock and fueled by timber, Annabeth’s thoughts turned over the story that Father had imparted to her. Her ancestor, Anglicus Karstagne, was the first King in the North, the one who led her House to greatness and established the words that her family spoke with pride. He was a true hero, unlike the heroes from the songs and stories that Magnus loved to hear about, unlike Hearthstone and Blitzen and Njord from the Old Ages. Her mind swiveled upon the notion of his daughter Princess Adalayne, the Fyrewolf, and her rumored silver hair alongside the Favor from the First._

_As sleep’s threat on overtaking her strengthened, she decided that hearing from Old Hestia was the only way to move forward. Curiosity burned through her, and her desire to quell it outgrew her desire to heed Father’s words by far. Annabeth was a Minerva, she knew that. It wouldn’t do to leave herself scrambling for answers—no matter how juvenile they may prove to be._

**Ω**

There was a stabbing pain that pierced her palm, and Annabeth was tore from her thoughts with a resounding hiss. Pausing in her cleaning, she drew away from the source as quickly as she could and cradled her hand in her lap. Annabeth settled on folded legs and assessed the damage.

Blood poured from the wound, but not overtly so. The scarlet color seemingly mocked her if anything else, reminding her of the obscure stains that she had yet to succeed in scrubbing out. The pain was bearable, most of it rooted in the abruptness of its commence. She had suffered worse in the desert. Careful not to spill any of the blood on the floors she’d spent far too much time attempting to clean, Annabeth tore a bit of her skirt—a sliver of the edge that she knew no one would miss—and wrapped it around her palm. The fighting shacks had taught her well.

Submerging herself in the remembrances of childhood past had forced her to work at a more sedate pace. Glancing to the window as she pressed the fabric against her palm, Annabeth realized that the midday meal would be served soon in the servant’s dining. The Baroness had been quick when going over that fact—most likely a result of her abhorrence at Algreni slaves being fed more than once a day.

She scanned the floors for the culprit of her wound and found a sharp piece of ironstone sticking upwards. It was triangular in shape, not unlike the mountains that scattered across the northern borders of the continent and shielded her home. Annabeth caught sight of the drop of blood that tainted the peak of it and ignored the sting of the symbolism it held. Rising shakily to her feet, she made quick work of gathering her things before heading back towards the servant’s entry. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, reminding her that she had eaten only three meals in the past five days. In her hurry to the Darksnake’s chambers earlier that morning, she had woken before the kitchens did and had missed breakfast.

The halls were vacant as she made her way back to the servant’s quarters. Passing by only a few Triesstine guards and an Archadian slave who looked frantic, Annabeth retraced her steps from hours beforehand. Exhaustion pulled on her limbs, and when she finally dropped next to Hazel at the table after returning her basket full of cleaning supplies to the Head Servant, the desire to lay down and rest was overwhelming enough to tempt her greatly.

The gentle hum of chatter filled the room, vibrating and low as it filled the spaces. There were only a handful of servants seated around the tables, the majority of them lacking the typical Algreni features that Annabeth had grown to recognize. She spotted a few Eurissians here and there—a black-haired, black-eyed people group from the conquered Triesstine territory of Euriss across the Valbelian Sea. They mostly kept to themselves.

Hazel looked up at her as she sank into her seat, a small smile pulling on the corners of her lips. “You look exhausted,” she said with aimed simplicity. Hazel then grabbed a bowl of gruel and a thin slice of unleavened bread from the center of the table before pushing it towards her. “Eat.”

Her tone brokered no room for argument and Annabeth found herself more than willing to comply. She sent her a look that she hoped came off as grateful. “You’re so kind to me,” she murmured in a rare expression of vulnerability. Her throat was scratchy. “Thank you.”

Hazel shrugged and swallowed down her bite. “It isn’t anything really,” she said through a lowered voice. She began fiddling with the hem of her skirt, a habit of hers that Annabeth had begun to pick up on. Her golden eyes lowered and had almost darkened to a bronze, her mind evidently travelling to ensnaring locations. “My father was the kindest, most honorable man I’ve ever met,” Hazel said. “I try to be like him at every opportunity, honor his memory.”

Annabeth stiffened, the hand that had been raising the spoon to her lips pausing in its movement as she registered the younger girl’s words. She offered a tight glance at her only to find that Hazel didn’t even appear to know that she had said it out loud. The Algreni gripped her clothes tightly within her fist. Despite her shaking and her mind’s warning to not get too close, Annabeth reached over and pressed a hand atop the clenched one of dark skin. Hazel’s chin flicked upwards, eyes wide, and the irony of the role reversal was not lost on either of them.

She gave the younger girl as a kind a smile as she could muster, slowly pulling her hand away. “I understand,” Annabeth said with a faint tilt of her head. She did not dare say more, fearing that any words she say could link her back to the Mounts. In spite of everything, in spite of Hazel’s recurring attempts at comfort, she could trust no one. _She would trust no one._

_Think with emotion, act with logic._

There must have been something of kin present in Annabeth’s expression, for words began to flood past Hazel’s lips as she offered unwarranted explanation. “My father died when I was young,” she said. “And I lost my mother when the Triesstine conquered the desert. But…” her expression clouded, and she looked away. Though the corners of her lashes gleamed with wetness, Annabeth swore there was bitterness in her tone when she spoke. “But I think she died a long time before that.” There was a long silence and Hazel finally turned back to her. “What about you?”

A lump invaded Annabeth’s throat at the question, halting her breaths. There was a ringing in her ears, a stinging in her sinuses as her eyes threatened to well with tears. Her heart rhythmically pounded against the cage of her ribs, rising to meet the weighted press of grief that sat on her sternum.

The memory was overwhelming. Throngs of traitors, masked and hooded, dragging Mother away by her hair as they hauled her to the dungeons, hissing words breathed of lust and malice. The unwavering pride in Father’s face giving way to agony, colonies of arrows taking root in his chest as he tumbled to the floor, the fulsome sound of his skull cracking against the steps that yielded to the Seat before the Orszag assailants slit his throat to the bone. Chaos reigning free, the smell of blood and burning bodies thick in the air, Luke’s hand gripping her own as they _ran_ , ran for their lives.

_The mountains remember._

“Um,” Annabeth blinked, clearing her throat. Her eyes burned with unshed tears and the air felt dry, so dry. She looked away from the probing gaze that Hazel aimed at her. “I don’t… I don’t like to talk about that,” she said.

“Oh!” Her acquaintance jolted, and even though Annabeth wasn’t looking at her, she knew the body language of embarrassment when she saw it. Sheepishly, Hazel hurried on. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--” She paused, deciding to take another course of action. “You said that you understood and for some reason, I thought that you would want to talk about it…” She twirled her spoon in her bowl of cruel, pewter dragging against pewter. “It was my assumption, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Annabeth responded lamely. She released a shuddering breath. “It’s fine,” she repeated. _It’s fine,_ her mind echoed. But for the life of her, she did not know who she was trying to convince.

**Ω**

Weeks passed without significant occurrence. The conquests settled in their new routines, and Annabeth was far from being an exception. Every day she woke before the dawn in order to get as much cleaning in as possible. Heeding the Darksnake’s command, she no longer knocked on the iron door of the servant’s entry to his chambers. Deft and silent, she slipped in and out without his knowledge nor his attention. She was grateful for that matter; the less their paths crossed, the higher chance she had of living to see her twentieth name day.

A banquet in celebration of the Darksnake’s safe return from the Iced South alongside the drawing up of peace treaties between the Trident of Triesso and the previously untouched Tribes of Yza was announced. In accordance, all the servants were set on preparing for the affair in their free time. The Baroness worked them all from dawn to dusk, all too happy to use them to the bone or as she saw fit. If Annabeth wasn’t scrubbing away at blood stains on the floors of the Heir Apparent’s training room, she was hauling cases of exotic foods imported from countries near and far, from the Isles, from Vynneyard, the Gale, Edren, and more. She ached in places that she hadn’t felt since Algren, slept heavier than she did as a sheltered princess in the Torch. The toil was bruising, but she was beholden to the distraction as it proved for a way for her to remain out of mind from the rival of her House.

The prince of Triesso did not make it difficult to keep away from his presence. In fact, Annabeth hardly saw him during the many hours she spent cleaning his chambers. The Darksnake was always enclosed in his private study, undoubtedly working and tiring over the political aspects of royal life that she knew she would have to deal with once she reclaimed the Mounts. He rarely was seen elsewhere, save for the occasional midday strolls with the High Lady and required appearances in the throne room before his High Lord-Emperor of a father. None of it proved to be any matter of consequence to Annabeth. The less she saw of him, the better.

Hazel, Valeria, and Piper all settled quickly within their new roles, the latter displaying her exuberance far more often than the others. Valeria rose almost as early as Annabeth most days but went to bed much later. She had not seen the black-haired Algreni for nearing a moon, it felt like. Hazel and Piper, by contrary, carried a lesser workload compared to their elder counterparts. As handmaids, they were concerned with only one noblewoman and her sleeping chambers, nothing more or less. Hazel spoke little of the Lady Rovea of Kyseltis, only ever vaguely mentioning her politeness and her love for rice pudding when demanded in the darkness of night to share the details of her day.

Piper, on the other hand, only ever talked about her latest charge, Lady Vene. Annabeth had yet to meet the woman but felt that she knew her deeply from the vast number of stories and facts that the fiery desert girl shared. It was through Piper that she learned of her betrothal to the Darksnake, a fact that she had smugly imparted when Valeria had asked around for palace gossip.

“That’s not gossip,” Valeria rolled her eyes as she turned over onto her stomach. It was a rare night that she lacked fatigue, and she had decided to take advantage of it. “Everyone knows that they’re betrothed. It’s all the serving girls ever talk about.”

Annabeth said nothing from her position against the wall. It felt unnecessary to point out that she had been ignorant of such a fact—something that would prove to be embarrassing given her pseudo-proximity to the Heir Apparent.

“Who cares if it’s gossip?” Piper snorted. She tugged her knees to her chest. “It’s still _good._ Silena—she let’s me call her that, by the way—mentioned it in passing the other day. It means that she’ll be the future High Lady!”

“Piper…” Hazel drawled from the floor. Her arm was tossed over her face, her eyes and nose pressed against the crook of her elbow. “You seem far too excited over another woman’s pending marriage. Why?”

The girl in question huffed while Valeria laughed. “Nothing interesting happens around here, Hazel. We’re worked to the bone day in and day out. _Pardon me_ for trying to find solace in excitement in something external.”

Hazel grunted but didn’t respond.

Since then, Lady Vene was all Piper seemed interested in talking about. Granted, some of her stories proved to be beneficial to Annabeth’s well of knowledge. She learned that Silena Vene was the daughter of Aphrodite of House Vene, Queen of the Western Isles and First Councilwoman in Triesstine court. She learned that Lady Vene was set to inherit her mother’s crown and political seat as well as the crown of the Triesstine Empire once she wed the Darksnake. However, the majority of what Piper shared was inconsequential and annoying.

Annabeth cared not for the silks of the Lady’s dresses, had no interest in hearing about the blues of her eyes or the black of her hair or the way she sang to herself when she dressed in the morning. When she dared mention this fact to the Algreni girl, it was not received positively.

**Ω**

“Is there a reason why you’re making that face, Asteria?”

Annabeth looked up from her position on her reed mat, forced from her thoughts. She found Piper’s hostile gaze from across the small bedroom, felt Hazel’s probing eyes, heard Valeria’s quiet snores. The silver ring of the moon was pinned to the night sky, surrounding by a smatter of glowing stars. Pale light streamed through the narrow windows, casting long and ominous shadows across the gaunt faces of her fellow servant-prisoners. “What are you talking about,” she finally deadpanned in response to the Algreni girl’s question.

Piper scowled, a sourness streaming into her eyes at the downwards pull of her lips. “Whenever I mention Silena you make that… that _face._ ”

Annabeth stiffened, recognizing the taut alignment of her limbs as synonymous with her posture when she had picked the fight with that other conquest on their first day in Triton’s Hold. Hazel, evidently coming to the same realization, placed a quelling hand on the girl’s elbow.

“Leave it be, Piper,” she murmured. “It isn’t that serious.”

She couldn’t be assuaged, if one were to judge accurately by the flames that smoldered in her versicolored irises. Piper shrugged off Hazel’s touch, her expression tightening as she regarded Annabeth. “No,” she said in a hard voice. “I want an explanation.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes at that. Already, Annabeth found herself bored with this girl, this upstart waiting to happen. _They would’ve killed you,_ she reminded herself. _They found her and they would’ve killed you._ “An explanation for what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Piper scowled.

“Free. You are free to make whatever assumptions about me that you wish to.” Annabeth tilted her head only slightly. “But is there a specific reason as to why you’re so angry?” _Don’t be a fool. Stop being a fool._

“You’ve always looked down on me,” the Algreni grit out, as if hearing her thoughts. She began to advance, the moonlight illuminating her face as she drew closer to the object of her attention. “Admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit,” Annabeth replied. She forced herself not to edge away, forced herself to maintain the firm grip she held on her emotions. When the half-lie slipped through her lips with ease, it was all she could do to school her expression even more. “I feel nothing for you.”

Hazel tensed in the corner, but said nothing, seemingly resigned to allow the brewing argument to run its course. Her prior words regarding Piper’s fiery behavior took root at the forefront of Annabeth’s thoughts, and she would’ve lost herself in them had it not been for the caustic response that was tossed into her face.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Piper clenched her fists, jaw locking as she continued on her prowl forwards. “ _You feel nothing._ I know the Baroness calls you Cold One. How fitting, right? Asteria of Burilese, the cold-blooded bitch.”

Silence.

Annabeth’s body went rigid in preparation but already the memories surged forward, and she swallowed in a manner that she hoped was inaudible, attempting to dispel the lump of shame that had forged its way into her throat. _You are a machine,_ they’d told her. _You are a killer. To feel is to die._

She could feel Hazel’s wary gaze scraping against her at her lack of response. Piper’s chest heaved up and down, her countenance twisted in evident agitation and bitterness. She stood over her, chin angled downwards, eyes furious, and the ghosts of Annabeth’s past conjured up the all-too familiar image of the Flogger.

Finally, after long moments spent attempting to disregard the plethora of horrors that she’d been reminded of, Annabeth balanced her tone and responded. “You’re wasting your breath, Piper.” She looked up at her, lifting her head and meeting her gaze head on. “Stop it,” she ordered. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

That only proved to anger her more. “ _Shut up,_ ” she hissed as she leaned forward.

“You’re the only one talking much.”

There was a pause where her expression went blank before Piper registered the impertinence of her words. When the meaning finally dawned on her, her hands outstretched the grasp the front of Annabeth’s dress. “I’ll--”

“ _Piper_ ,” Hazel tugged her backwards with a roughness that surprised all parties. “We should go to sleep. We both have to be up early. You know that.”

She shrugged off her friend’s grip, eyes still trained on Annabeth. “No, I want to hear what she has to say. This is getting old.” Piper then wheeled, spinning to face Hazel. “I know you think the same, Haze. _It’s getting old._ She thinks she’s better than us, and I want to know _why_.”

Hazel’s golden irises met Annabeth’s silver ones for a split moment before she refocused on the incensed prisoner in front of her. Clasping her hands in front of her, she shook her head with a gentleness to soothe a bear. “Piper…” her whisper was firm and drawn out. “Not all things are meant to be known. Okay? Can we please just go to sleep?”

The taller girl visibly loosened the strain in her shoulders, her form slacking as she took note of the discomfort in Hazel’s body language. “Fine,” she huffed. “Yeah, fine, whatever. I guess I don’t need the Baroness to ask me why Asteria has a bruised lip anyway.”

Hazel looked over Piper’s shoulder to meet Annabeth’s eye. There was a flare of understanding that welled in her expression for a moment before she sent her a tight-lipped smile. Annabeth nodded and returned the gesture despite the apprehension that was accumulating in her senses, in her blood. Heat flushed her skin as she analyzed the action. _Keep an eye on her,_ Annabeth told herself. _Keep an eye on her._

“Thank the _gods_ ,” Valeria’s slurred voice rose from the silence of the darkened corner of the room. “I thought you’d all _never_ shut up. Now we can go to sleep.” Her words elicited several chuckles and diluted laughs, lessening the tangible evidence of tension in the room.

Annabeth released a heavy breath, her chest shaking, as she laid on her side and turned her back to the rest of the girls. Tears—hot, unbridled, flowing with reckoning—gathered in the corners of her eyes. The darkness of night was her only comfort, the only thing that kept hidden from her the grisly truths of the world she had been cursed of living in without her family, one of the many things that proved to be a catalyst for her nightmares. When she found that she could not ignore the sting of Piper’s words, no matter how little she cared for the girl, Annabeth knew they were but fuel for her darkest thoughts. _Cold One,_ too many voices taunted her. _You are a machine, you are a killer. To feel is to die._

Annabeth couldn’t muster up the courage to even attempt to refute the claims. Truly, deep down, she knew that they were true and that she was a coward.

**Ω**

The following days were an awkward affair. Piper had taken to ignoring Annabeth entirely, never addressing her presence and satisfied with believing that she simply didn’t exist. Only a little ashamed of her sentiments, Annabeth was thankful for the peace and quiet. However, the arguably-one-sided animosity between the two left both Valeria and Hazel in cumbersome positions. Both were slow to ignore Annabeth and outwardly choose a side but did so only if to keep Piper’s annoyance at bay.

Annabeth was self-aware enough to see when her presence was unwanted. Knowing that she’d rather not deal or entertain the frosty welcome she would surely receive whenever she found herself face to face with the choppy-haired girl, she kept out of the sleep room as much as possible. She threw herself into her work, scrubbing and hauling away into late hours of the night when she was sure they would all be deep in their dreams upon her return.

The gruff voice of the Head Servant tore at Annabeth’s thoughts. He was a heavy-set man with a streak of cruelty ten lengths wide, purely Triesstine if his eyes, skin, and hair gave any hint. “Lift!” The noise echoed across the dew-slick grounds of Triton’s Hold. It was nearing noon and yet the sun had yet to make its appearance through the grey clouds that thickened the sky. Humid winds rustled at Annabeth’s clothes, whipping her slitted skirts around her bruised legs.

She squatted on the command, fixing her fingers beneath the rough corners of the damp wooden crate, and stood. There was a low pain in the small of her back and she grit her teeth at it. The Head Servant was cruel and made quick work to point the guards and their whips in the direction of any captive servants that he deemed lazy and slacking. A few days beforehand a young Vynnish girl had made the mistake of complaining about the bones in her shoulder, claiming that it had never healed right when it was broken. The Head Servant had had her whipped in front of the eyes of the rest of them before the attention of a passing noblewoman had forced him to stop.

 _“Come now, grape eater,”_ the soldiers had jeered in response to her pleads for mercy. _“Perhaps some wine will make it better?”_

Annabeth refused to make the same mistake. To assume that she would be given even an inch of respect in the absence of her chains was foolish of her, she knew that. All she could do was work through the faint flares of pain and pray to the Mothers that she wouldn’t falter in sight of guards and men.

She drew away from the plane of reality as she and another servant began carrying the crate towards the entrance that led to the kitchen storage halls. Annabeth lost herself in her thoughts, and if it weren’t for the startled outcry of the Head Servant that called for her attention, she might have been caught fully unawares—something that was proving to be a detrimental habit.

“Lady Vene, how surprising to see you here!” The man’s voice heightened an octave and Annabeth faltered. The servant on the other side of the crate shot her a dark look, warning her to keep walking without words, but already her attention was on the appearance of the Darksnake’s betrothed.

“Quintos,” a feminine voice responded. “My handmaiden and I were looking for one of your offhand workers. I was directed here. Would you be willing to give me aid?”

The Head Servant tripped over his words, the volume of his voice lowering as Annabeth neared the side entrance to the palace. “Of course!” He sputtered. “It is my honor to aid such a graceful woman. Whatever you ask, my Lady, and it is yours.”

She rolled her eyes at the man’s simpering as she entered, ignoring the gnawing in the pit of her stomach. Piper was the only handmaiden of Lady Vene that she knew about, but what were the chances that the woman was looking for her? What reason would she have? It was those thoughts that calmed her as she and the other servant set the crate of fruit down in the storage hall. Annabeth spun on her heel and made her way back down to where the shipments had been loaded off, but she didn’t get far.

A serene voice, melodic and soothing in nature, halted her. “You must be Asteria.”

_No._

Immediate panic surged through Annabeth’s veins, chills crawling down her spine upon recognition. It was by reflex alone that she lowered her head, stopping only when her chin brushed against the bones of her chest. Annabeth sucked in a sharp breath, taking note of the silk robes and sandaled feet that billowed in her line of vision. “Yes, my Lady,” she answered. Annabeth said nothing more, didn’t trust herself to.

“Very well,” the smile in the noblewoman’s voice was evident when she spoke. A small part of her conscience finally understood just why Piper spoke of her so much. “Lift your head, I’d like to see your face.”

Annabeth did as she was told and forced herself not to make an evident reaction when she caught sight of her most recent rival over the shoulder of the future High Lady. Piper’s expression was monotone, and she refused to look back at her. Knowing that she would get no answers, Annabeth shifted her gaze to the noblewoman in front of her. Apprehension continued to hail on her senses as she registered her warm blue eyes and dewy light brown skin.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil and wholly undeterred, the Lady Vene continued as she outstretched a manicured hand, her expression bright. “If it wouldn’t trouble you too much, Asteria, I’d like it if you would accompany me alongside my handmaiden Piper to the gardens. I believe we have much to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: annabeth does a little snooping and gets caught! hopefully a certain heir apparent will show mercy. see you next saturday and tysm for reading!


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